


To Hold You Close

by larryficsandrecs



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Farmer Harry, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, It's very very briefly mentioned though, Jealousy, M/M, Pining, Sexual Tension, There will be no cheating in this fic because cheating is bad, Underage Drinking, bad roommates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-17 16:30:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 40,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13080804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/larryficsandrecs/pseuds/larryficsandrecs
Summary: After being assigned a horrible roommate at school, Harry spends the majority of his time in Niall and Liam's room—and it’s certainly not because of the blue-eyed cutie that tends to mooch on their futon.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> What even is this? This was originally just a document in which I ranted about my horrible roommate but somehow along the way I managed to turn it into a Larry fic. Go figure.
> 
> On a different note, I started this story about two years ago. I posted the first 4 chapters on a different account, lost interest in it, deleted the work and have since then forgotten my password to my old account. Sooo if it sounds/looks familiar to something you've already read before, that would be the reason why. :)
> 
> I'm gonna post chapter 2 tonight and the rest of the fic tomorrow :) The fic is completely finished already so hooray for that
> 
> I hope you all enjoy! =0)

The room is hot and stuffy.

All of the windows are wide open, the fans are on full blast, and even the door is ajar, yet the room could rival the deepest pits of Hell. It might even be hotter than the deepest pits of Hell. In fact, Harry bets that Hell may even feel like a nice, autumn breeze in comparison to this room right now. Anything would be cooler than this monstrosity of a dorm room.

He’s currently trying to tape up his North River Valley State University poster up on the wall. It’s his first official college décor, the only thing he’s bothered to unpack so far from his many suitcases and boxes that he lugged to campus. The rest of his things remain completely untouched aside from the three fans he brought to school. The biggest one is on the window sill, set to the highest power, and the other two are clipped to his bed and desk. But even with all these fans, the room is still a million, maybe even a trillion, degrees hot. It’s so hot in the room that the tape won’t stick to the wall and Harry’s poster ungracefully falls to the floor, snapping back into its original place in a tight coil at his feet.

He takes a step back from it, his eyes forming a harsh glare before he snatches it off the ground and, once again, tapes it back up to the wall, using even more tape than the first time. When it stays for more than thirty seconds, he takes a step back and admires his work.

It’s crooked.

It’s crooked and not centered over his desk and he can see the tape from a mile away. It all looks like shit. Which is just great, really.

Because not only is he living in an actual oven, but the one thing that he’s actually really proud of is hanging crooked over his desk. And it really shouldn’t be that big of a deal—he can easily fix it later—but the heat is making him angry and damn it—why did Massachusetts decide to make it this blazing hot on the one day he has do some physical labor? There should be a law against having to move into a dorm room in the middle of August. Better yet, they may as well just cancel heat, in general. Goodbye, heat strokes.

He falls heavily into his desk chair, rubbing his eyes with his fists. He would give anything to be in a nice, air conditioned room. He wants to lie underneath the fans and free himself from his sweat covered clothes, enjoying the cool air kissing his naked skin. He revels at the thought, succumbing to his desire and finally ridding his body of the disgusting shirt that clings to his chest from his sweat.

It feels so nice. So liberating and peaceful. Like maybe the extremely hot room isn’t so bad after all.

Until, that is, the door slams open behind him and nearly gives Harry a heart attack. The window pane, alone, shakes with the amount of force used to push it open.  
Harry’s poster is once again lying in a heap on the ground. He groans.

“No, Mother. I would like the refrigerator to be in black,” the boy says, his voice whining as if he’s an actual five year old. He rolls his suitcase underneath his bed, his back facing Harry.

It’s not like Harry even minds, to be honest. The kid has a vibe and it’s not a good kind of vibe.

“I don’t care, Mother,” the boy continues, “I thought you said that I could have whatever I wanted.”

There’s a pause in which he stops to fold his arms over his chest, a furrow in his forehead becoming more pronounced as the seconds tick by. Harry stands behind him and pretends as if he’s not listening to every word the boy is saying. The truth, however, couldn’t be any farther from that. He’s practically absorbing every word that the boy says.

“You always make me feel so guilty about money, Mother. You never let me have anything nice,” he whines. He sniffles, and is that his voice getting choked up? Over a refrigerator?

Okay. This is the time that Harry leaves now. The kid sounds as if he’s on the brink of tears at this point and honestly, Harry did not sign up to wipe away some stranger’s tears on move-in day.

He slips out the room, making sure to close the door quietly behind him. He almost feels a little guilty that he even did that, almost as if he should be in there and maybe introduce himself or something and then ask him if he wants a hug. But. Then again, that’s a bit weird, especially considering he doesn’t even know the kid’s name.

Well, technically he does. He received an email over the summer that had his name, along with his contact information. His mom had bugged for days on end to text this boy—Demetrius Hammons—and he did. He really, truly did, despite what his mom thinks, but the boy never responded to any of his texts, emails or calls. So, who knows who the kid is, honestly.

He walks down the hall towards the bathroom. It’s a communal bathroom, so not only does he have to share it with fifty other boys, but it’s also located at the very opposite end of the hall to where Harry lives. So, that’s great.

He runs his hands under the cool water, bringing it up to his face. It feels beautiful on his burning skin, like eating ice cream on a hot, sunny day. It reminds him of the days when he would jump into his neighbor’s pool on a particularly hot day with his sister, Gemma.

He busies himself with the water, letting it drip down his neck and onto his chest. By the time his skin finally returns to a relatively normal body temperature again, he walks back to his room and sends a silent prayer that his roommate won’t be on the ground with tears in his eyes.

He hesitantly opens the door, peeking his head in just enough to see that Demetrius (if that’s even his real name) is off the phone and starting to put his clothes in the dresser.

He walks in, knocking on the door softly so he doesn’t scare his new roommate. “Hey,” he says, offering him a small smile. “I’m Harry.”

Demetrius spins around, his eyebrows raising just an inch before they pull down. And well, that’s an interesting first impression. Harry never would have thought that he’d be glared at on his very first day of move-in. “It’s great to meet you, mate,” he finds himself saying, despite the bile rising in his throat.

Lies, lies, lies.

Demetrius stands up, straightening his back out and then stands up to his full height. He’s much taller than Harry expected. He’s definitely bigger than he is, and as much as he tries not to feel intimidated by his glare and his frown, he definitely cannot deny that his height is definitely making him feel uneasy.

Actually, scratch that. Everything about this kid screams intimidating. His hair is combed and gelled perfectly, not a hair out of place. It’s jet black and plastered down with tons of product. His face is pinched and sharp. His nose is small and pointed, his mouth twisted into a grimace, and even his cheeks are sharp, not at all carrying a hint of immaturity in them, unlike Harry’s round and dimpled cheeks.

“Yeah,” the boy says slowly. He reaches his hand out, still a scowl on his face. “Great to meet you. Demetrius.”

Harry takes his hand in his. It all feels a bit too formal. A bit weird, actually. The weird vibes are flowing.

“Would you like any help?” Harry asks. He cringes at his own voice. It’s his ‘work voice.’ The kind of voice he uses when he’s talking to someone of authority and he hates it. This isn’t the way it should be with his roommate.

“No thank you,” Demetrius says, already turning his back on Harry once again and not gracing him with another word. He puts his headphones in his ears. They’re blatantly not hooked up to anything.

“Okay,” Harry finds himself saying, mentally punching himself in the face for even responding. “Well, uh, I guess I’ll just…” he points out to the hall and frowns even more when Demetrius doesn’t even acknowledge him. He just keeps moving his shirts from his suitcase to his dresser, purposely keeping his eyes glued to the task at hand as if it were the most important and difficult thing in the world. As if Harry doesn’t even exist.

Which, ouch. That kind of hurts, actually.

He turns back around and walks out into the hallway. Not even a second later, his door is slammed shut behind him, and he distinctly hears the lock click into place.  
It’s in that moment that Harry realizes that he has the shit roommate that everyone warns you about. He should have listened to their advice more. Maybe he’d actually know what to do now—now that he’s practically locked out of his room with nowhere to go. He has no friends here and he would easily get lost if he tried to navigate the campus. To get lost on a day like today where the heat is unbearable does not sound pleasant to Harry.

He slides down the wall, resting his head in his hands. Maybe coming to this school was a mistake. Maybe he should’ve went to the same school as all his other friends. He could’ve roomed with his best friend, made more memories with the people he’s already close to. He groans, gently tugging at the ends of his hair.  
“Locked out on the first day already?”

Harry picks his head up off his knees, looking to his left to put the voice to a face. It’s a boy. His hair is swooped to the side, the ends curling a little to grace his forehead. He’s poking his head out from his room and Harry can distinctly tell that he’s trying to bite back his humored expression.

“Yeah,” he mumbles, running his hands over his tired eyes.

The boy walks out into the hall and leans up against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest, a stance that screams ‘comfortable.’ He’s wearing a black t-shirt and Harry is only a little bit jealous that he doesn’t seem at all bothered by the extreme heat.

“Gotta love roommates,” he says casually, his lips tugging up into a smirk. He eyes Harry’s door, shaking his head in faint amusement before they return to Harry.  
“No kidding,” he says under his breath. “It’s only been two minutes and I’m pretty sure he hates me already.”

The kid laughs at that, finding it absolutely hysterical. He pushes himself off the wall and helps Harry up from his spot on the floor.

“Don’t take it personally, mate. That’s just Demetrius for you. ‘M pretty sure he hates everyone.” The boy stops briefly only to hold his hand out with a nice smile, his eyes warm and inviting. “I’m Liam.”

“Harry,” he says, taking his hand in his and following behind him into his dorm room.

Their room is completely set up already—a fridge in the corner, a futon on the wall, posters scattered around. It’s Harry’s dream room, but unfortunately, Demetrius wouldn’t answer his calls or texts about what he should and shouldn’t bring, so his dream of having a bachelor pad—well, dorm room—was ruined.

He follows Liam further into the room, taking a seat on the futon when the boy gestures towards it. “I take it you know Demetrius, then?”

Liam snorts, tossing a water bottle at Harry who thanks him graciously and takes a seat beside him on the futon, his feet propped up on the stool in front of him.  
“Unfortunately. Went to school with him since I was six. He’s not a very…” he stops momentarily to wave his hand in the air, trying to find the right word. “kind kid, if you will. He can be quite rude, actually.”

“Who can be quite rude?” A new voice asks. It’s got a slight accent to it, and Harry can’t exactly place it, but he knows it’s certainly not one he hears on a daily basis. It sounds Irish or Scottish or something of that sort. He’s never been good at detecting accents.

He turns his head in the direction of the voice, seeing a boy with hair that’s obviously dyed blond with roots coming in brown. The boy looks at Harry, holding out his hand with a smile radiating on his face. “Hey, mate. Nice to meet ya. I’m Niall, Liam’s roommate and best friend forever and ever, right Liam?”

Liam snorts beside him, rolling his eyes as if that statement was the most absurd thing he’s ever heard. And maybe it is, Harry wouldn’t know.

“Can’t get rid of him,” he says, talking directly to Harry and pointing with his thumb at Niall. “He’s like a leech, that one.”

“Oh, Liam! Don’t be like that,” the blond says. He races to his side and presses his cheek up against Liam’s, stroking his face with his hand as he flutters his eyelashes. “You love me.”

“Fuck off,” Liam jokes, shoving him away. He scoots farther away from the boy, straightening his legs out in front of him with his arms behind his head. “Harry has Douchebag Demetrius as his roommate.”

Niall barks out a laugh, hitting Harry on his back unceremoniously and making him splutter out the water he just sipped. “Good fucking luck, mate,” he says.

And well, those words certainly do not settle well in Harry’s gut, nor does Demetrius’ nickname make him feel any better.

“But hey,” Niall continues, “our futon is your futon. Just so long as you’re willing to share it with Louis. Just talked to him out in the hall and he said he’s got a pretty bad roommate, too. Homophobic or something.”

Liam gasps beside him. “No,” he says bewildered.

“Yeah, made him take down the rainbow flag on his wall and you know how proud he is of that thing.”

Liam shakes his head, mumbling under his breath as he leans back against the futon with his foot hanging lazily over his knee. “Fucking hell. Between Harry and Demetrius and Louis and his roommate, it’s surely going to be an interesting year.”

“Hell yeah, it is,” Niall says, and Harry’s having a hard time determining if he meant to say that in an excited tone and it fell flat, or if he purposely meant it in a pessimistic way. Either way, he doesn’t like the sound of it.

He plays idly with the water bottle in his hand, ripping at the label as he thinks about the conversation Liam and Niall had about this Louis person. Presumably, it’s their friend, but all Harry took away from it is the fact that he’s gay, or at least part of the gay community in some way. It makes Harry feel a bit relieved, knowing that he’s not the only one.

And it’s not like he actually thought that he was going to be the only one at the school. He knew there was an LGBTQ club here. But knowing that there’s someone right down the hall from him, makes him feel tons better. Almost happy, even.

“Well anyway,” Liam says, clapping his hands together before standing up. “Like Niall said, you can crash here any time of the day, Harry.” He plucks his phone off his desk, checking his screen for any new messages and frowning when there’s none. “I’m gonna call Zayn now. It’s ten minutes over our scheduled phone call.” He walks out into the hall, throwing one more wave at Harry over his shoulder.

Harry can’t help the bright smile on his face when he realizes that even Liam—the guy who lives right next door—is also gay. He must’ve hit the jackpot when he moved here.

As soon as Liam leaves the room, Niall huffs and rolls his eyes, getting up to go to the fridge. He mumbles a bunch of crude swear words under his breath, and Harry wonders what has him so worked up. He seemed perfectly fine just a few minutes ago, but now he seems frustrated—irritated almost.

“You okay?” he asks. He silently hopes that he’s not crossing any line. He has just met the boy, after all.

“Yeah,” Niall sighs, dragging out the word with a long breath. “Just concerned for Liam’s wellbeing.”

He doesn’t say anything else, and Harry knows not to push. He doesn’t want to be known as being nosy; especially in front of someone he could potentially see himself being friends with.

“You want something to eat?” Niall asks seconds later, his voice already returning to its normal tone, as if he wasn’t just swearing a few seconds ago. He opens the door wider for Harry to see inside.

He quickly scans the fridge, noting the pretty much vacant drawers and shelves, save for the cheese, milk, fruit and—

“Is that beer in your fridge?” he asks, chuckling unbelievably when he sees a Blue Moon label wrapped around a brown bottle stacked in the door.

“It is.” Niall turns around with a glint in his eye, a devious smile playing at his lips. “Want one?”

Harry lets out one loud cackle, not believing for one second that this kid snuck alcohol into his dorm room on the very first day of move-in. Not only is it against all the school’s rules, but it’s also against the law. There’s no way Niall’s a day over twenty-one.

“I thought this school was strictly dry,” Harry can’t help but clarify. “No alcohol allowed on campus?”

He watches as Niall pops the top off of one of the beers, taking a swig and wiping his mouth on his arm. He sighs in content and then holds a bottle for Harry. “It is,” he says and leaves it at that. He’s smirking and raising his eyebrows, just waiting patiently for Harry to take the bottle out of his hand.

And well…who is Harry to pass up a drink? That would be impolite. Or something like that.

He snatches the beer out of his hand and takes a sip, enjoying the familiar bitter taste on his tongue. “You sir,” he says, pointing a finger at Niall, “are a good man.”

“Oh yeah!” he exclaims, pumping his fist in mock celebration. He stands up and sits in a chair opposite of Harry, propping his feet up on Harry’s knees as if they’ve known each for longer than five minutes. “Mate, we’re gonna have an awesome time this year. You like to party?”

“What kind of question is that?”

Niall smiles even broader, holding out his fist in a fist bump. “We’re going to be great friends, Harry,” he says, taking a sip of his beer. “Zayn told me that Tommo had all the ‘hook up’s to the best parties last year, and I’m really hopin’ that he’ll pull through again this year, but it’s not lookin’ too good.”

“Why not?”

Niall rolls his eyes, glancing quickly at the door before leaning in close to Harry, whispering in his ear as if he’s got the world’s biggest secret on his shoulders. He also looks like the biggest five year old there is, but that’s beside the point.

“Tommo’s too busy worrying about his boyfriend. Said he’s done with the party scene now that he has Jackson in his life.”

Harry nods his head as if knowing exactly who and what Niall is talking about. With the little time that he’s spent with the boy, he’s come to learn two main things about him. One, he has beer. And two, he mentions people as if you know them yourself.

“Don’t get me wrong, mate. Love Tommo and I love that he’s happy, but he needs to drop that boy.”

“Well, what’s wrong with him?” Harry asks. “Is he a criminal or something?”

Niall laughs. “No, no. He’s a great kid. But that’s all he is—a kid. He’s immature, and quite frankly, a brat. He’s a junior in high school and Louis is a sophomore in college. I don’t even think Jackson can legally drive yet.”

Harry tries his best not to make a face. Honestly, it’s not his place to judge someone’s relationship without even knowing them. Besides, age is but a number, right? It shouldn’t matter how old they are or what grade they’re in.

Still, there’s a nagging part of him that kind of hesitates with that logic. It’d be different if they were older, but right now? The kid can’t even drive yet. It makes Harry wonder what this Tommo kid is even doing with him in the first place.

Before Harry can get another word in, the door shuts quietly behind them. Both boys turn in their seats to see a solemn Liam walk back into the room. He shares a sad look with Niall, his eyes lingering on him for a few, long seconds, before he blinks and then smiles half-heartedly. Harry has known the kid for less than ten minutes, and already he knows that he’s faking that smile.

“That was quick,” Niall notes, saying it so quietly that it almost went unheard.

“Yeah,” Liam says, tossing his phone onto his desk. It clatters against the hardwood and fills the silent air. He doesn’t even flinch to the sound, his body just stoic as he stands at his desk, staring at seemingly nothing. “He, uh, didn’t pick up,” he says quietly. He turns around and looks at Niall again, biting his lip and releasing it slowly. “He’s probably…busy…with his artwork, or whatever. I left him a voicemail, so…”

He smiles again and it never once reaches his eyes. It’s quiet for a few seconds. Niall has his jaw locked in a set position. It looks as if he’s biting his tongue from saying anything, looking like he’s about five seconds away from punching something.

“So, where are you from, Harry?” Liam asks. His voice has returned to its normal pitch, but Harry can still hear that somber undertone. He hesitates with his answer, watching as Liam steals the beer from Niall’s hand and takes a few sips as if nothing odd just occurred.

“Uh,” he starts, momentarily forgetting what he was asked. “I’m from a small town about three hours from here,” he says, pretending that there wasn’t a tense moment in the room only a few seconds ago. Obviously, if Liam doesn’t want to talk about what happened, then Harry is not in position to ask him if he’s okay.

“Nothing really happens there,” he continues, “it’s very rural and quite boring, actually. I live on a farm.”

“Ah, a proper cowboy, are ya?” Niall asks. “You don’t look like one.”

Harry shakes his head, pushing Niall’s feet from off his knees. They drop heavily to the floor. “That’s a bit offensive, Niall,” he snaps. “For your information, I happen to take good care of a pig on our farm. She quite likes me.”

Niall snorts, putting his feet back on Harry’s lap and taking another swig of beer. “Well you know what they say,” he starts, already giggling at what he’s thinking. Harry raises his eyebrows in question, waiting for him to go on. “Birds of a feather flock together.”

“Are you implying that I’m a pig?”

“You’re the only one implying anything, mate,” Niall says, but his smirk says otherwise.

Harry glares at him, trying hard not to let his façade fade when Niall starts to fight back his laughter.

“Anyway,” he says loudly, eager to change the subject. He turns to face Liam. The boy’s smiling only a little over the whole thing, his eyes still sad. Harry briefly considers asking him if he’s alright, knowing full well that whatever happened with this so-called Zayn had evidently hurt him. He decides against it at the last second. “Where’re you guys from?”

“We all grew up in Roseville. Me, Louis, Niall, and uh, Zayn—my boyfriend—we all grew up on the same street.”

“Yeah,” Niall says. He slings his arm around Liam’s neck and pulls him in closer. “Met this handsome fella the first day I moved to America from Ireland in sixth grade. Been his best mate ever since.”

Harry nods his head, finally being able to place where Niall is originally from. 

“And Louis I met when I was only a few weeks old,” Liam continues. “Our moms were friends, so naturally we’re friends. Speaking of, where is Louis, anyway?” he asks, turning his head to face Niall. “I miss his loud voice.”

“He’s probably unpacking still. Prolly doesn’t even know where he’s even putting all his shit. You know how he is, always grabbing way too much and then realizing he doesn’t even need any of it.”

Liam agrees with him, lying back against the futon and closing his eyes. His lips pull into a frown once again and Harry realizes that he has yet to mention his boyfriend Zayn and how they met. He decides not to question it, instead quickly downing the rest of his beer. He stands up and hands Niall his empty bottle, tucking his water under his armpit.

“Well, I should probably get back to unpacking as well. I still have a lot to unload,” he says, making his way towards the door. Niall raises his beer at him, winking.

“Good luck with Douchebag Demetrius,” he says, standing up to pat him on his back. He dumps the empty bottles in the trash near his desk. “And remember what we told you. Our futon is your futon.”


	2. Chapter 2

“In the time that I’ve spent here, Mother, I have yet to learn my roommate’s name. But that is neither here, nor there, for I don’t particularly want to learn it.”

Harry balls his fists at his sides. It’s taking everything in his body not to snap around and scream his name at Demetrius. Never in his eighteen years of living has a person dug themselves so far underneath his skin to the point of wanting to rip his entire scalp out and puncture his skin with needles. 

Bit dramatic. But Harry thinks he has a good reason.

The boy has been talking on the phone with his mom for the past hour and a half, and there is no ending in sight. And he gets it—he really does. Lots of people like to talk on the phone with their mom. But to call her twice in one day and speak on the phone for more than an hour each time? What could they possibly talk about that they didn’t talk about before?

And not only that, but he uses showy words with exaggerated hand movements, and his voice holds a kind of faux intelligence that makes Harry want to pick his eyeballs out with a steel wedge.

It really shouldn’t get under his skin. He’s never really cared if people use bigger words, but it’s the fact that Demetrius uses them so absurdly and so incorrectly that it’s getting ridiculous. Not to mention the fact that he continues to ignore Harry as if he’s nothing but a chewed up piece of gum that’s inconveniently stuck to his shoe.

“Yes, Mother. I have been nothing but amiable to him.”

Harry snorts. Right, because ignoring him like the plague is anything but friendly.

He has yet to have a conversation with him and it’s already been a day. A day. With absolutely no talking between them except Harry’s slight attempts at any sort of conversation. The kid can’t even sacrifice a simple, little ‘hey’ when he walks into the room. The only time he has ever talked to him—if it even counts—was to tell him to turn his ‘ugly hipster music off.’

How amiable.

“He is rather indolent, actually,” Demetrius continues. “He engages in Netflix and consumes the crumbs off his chest when he assumes I am not looking.”

And that—that is what pushes him over the edge. He stands from his chair, the legs screeching against the floor.

Indolent? He thinks Harry is lazy? That’s a lot of nerve for someone who hides behind his laptop at all hours of the day.

And engage in Netflix? Who the fuck says engage in Netflix?

“Oh dear,” Demetrius says. He turns around in his seat and looks at Harry for the first time since yesterday when they first met. He smiles deviously and raises his eyebrows as if he challenging him to say something. “It appears that my lovely roommate has heard me speak of him.”

Without any other acknowledgement, he turns back around in his seat, leaving Harry to stare at his back in utter astonishment and anger.

If there’s one thing he’s learned in the one day he’s lived here, it’s that roommates are honestly the worst invention ever.

He grabs his towel out of his closet, strips out of his clothes and makes a hasty escape out of his room, making sure to slam the door shut so Demetrius knows how angry he is.

Immature? Yes. Most definitely immature. But Harry is only stooping down to Demetrius’ level and he’s not one to pass up the opportunity.

After washing up, he turns the water off and stands in the steam for a few seconds, just taking deep breaths in and out. He needs to calm down. If he gets any angrier, his head just might explode, and he quite likes his head.

He recollects himself, running the towel through his hair multiple times and then wrapping it around his waist. He feels significantly better, refreshed from his shower and feeling levelheaded once again.

That is, until he gets back to his dorm room and tries to turn the knob and—

The door is locked. He stands there dumbly, just staring at the wood. He’s in a towel. He has ugly shower shoes on his feet, shower caddy in hand. His hair is wet. And the door is locked.

He stands there frozen, remembering how he forgot his key on his desk. Idiot. He’s an idiot. He knocks on the door impatiently, hoping for a miracle that his roommate is still in the room and will let him in.

“Demetrius?” he calls. He presses his ear up to the door, listening for any kind of movement on the other side. There’s a loud sigh and then the chair scrapes against the floor. “I’m sorry,” he yells, taking a step back from the door. “I accidentally locked myself out.”

There’s a pause. Harry waits with bated breath, watching the handle anxiously. It should turn any second, but when a few more seconds go by with no response or any movement, he starts to get irritated. 

“Demetrius?” he calls again.

Then finally, after a heavy and dramatic sigh, he hears a muttered, “the front desk should have a spare key.”

Harry lets out an uneasy laugh, not knowing exactly what Demetrius is implying. He doesn’t particularly like the condescending tone he has, however. He very well knows that the front desk has a spare key, thank you very much. He’s not an idiot.

He shifts his weight on his feet and runs a hand through his wet hair, thinking of how much he wants to respond with something just as snippy as Demetrius’ response. And as much as he wants to give it right back to the obnoxious boy, he bites his tongue.

“Yeah,” he says with a forced laugh, still waiting patiently outside his dorm room. “I was about to go there but I figured I’d try knocking on the door first to see if you would let me in. I’m only in a towel so…I didn’t really want to do the walk of shame down there, you know?”

There. He’s civil and making a joke. Despite the actual bile rising up in his throat, he can now tell his mom that he’s at least trying to work things out with the self-centered prick.

“Well, I’m actually quite busy right now, so feel free to either sit outside the dorm room until I’m no longer preoccupied or go get a spare key from downstairs. Your choice.”

Harry blanches because—did he hear him correctly? Is he seriously saying that Harry has to walk downstairs in nothing but his towel because he can’t get off his lazy ass for two seconds to open the damn door?

Harry doesn’t even know how to reply to that. Does he be a sarcastic asshole back? Does he beg? Does he threaten him? What is one supposed to even do in this situation? He was never given advice for something like this.

Just as he’s about to bang on the door again and demand it to be opened, Liam pops his head out of his room and beckons him over.

“Can you believe him?” he asks absolutely bewildered, pacing back and forth in front of the boys sitting on the futon. His arms are flying in the air to exaggerate his absolute disbelief. He knows he should learn how to control them in times like these because he tends to accidentally hit things with his abnormally long arms, but he’s worked up, okay? He’s completely and utterly angry and he wishes there were better words to describe his current feelings.

He’s freezing with only a towel wrapped around his waist. His hair is dripping wet, his teeth won’t stop chattering, and he’s pissed.

“What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” he echoes, his voice raising an octave. “He fucking locked me out, that’s what’s wrong!” he yells. “And he refuses to open the door even though I know for a fact that he’s probably sitting at his desk behind his computer with a bag of chips in his hand. That lazy ass! I bet he even locked the door himself as soon as he saw that I left! I can’t even believe that—”

He stops pacing, freezing when the voice that asked him the question doesn’t at all sound familiar. He turns to face him, and—oh. It’s a boy. A boy with absolutely beautiful blue eyes and sinful lips. He stares at him, entranced by the way he pushes his hair out of his face, his fingers delicate and slim.

“Uh,” he stammers, feeling his heart hammer in his chest for an entirely different reason. “I’m sorry,” he stutters. “I really didn’t mean to yell at you.”

He stares at the boy’s pink lips, mesmerized by the shape and color of them, and also wondering what he possibly could do with those beautiful lips. Unconsciously, he licks his own and moves his eyes to settle on the boy’s hands that grip a water bottle. They’re small and dainty and Harry wants to know what it’d feel like having them around his—

“Oi,” he hears, pink lips moving. Harry startles, his eyes snapping back up to meet the boy’s. They’re so blue. So very blue and Harry wants to stare at them all day. “Haven’t you ever heard that it’s rude to stare at people?”

Harry’s eyes widen. Immediately, his eyes fly to the clock above his head and suddenly he becomes acutely aware that he’s nearly naked in front of one of the most attractive people he has ever seen in his entire eighteen years of living. He discretely brings his shower caddy in front of him, mumbling out some sort of apology that sounds bitter on his tongue.

“Demetrius has reached a whole new level of a dick,” Niall says.

And Harry really did not need to hear that word right now. Not with the hot boy sitting right there. Not when he’s still in a towel. Fuck.

He keeps his eyes trained on Niall, becoming increasingly aware of the nameless boy’s eyes on him. He both likes it and hates it all at the same time.

“He really has,” Liam agrees. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but did he seriously tell you to go get the spare key when he’s in the room?”

“Yes!” Harry exclaims, throwing his hands up in the air.

“What an asshole,” the blue-eyed cutie says, starting to stand up. His legs are clad in red sweatpants, probably made to stop right above his ankles, but they’re half tucked into his socks, making them bunch up at his calves. God they really shouldn’t be that attractive. “Come on, Curly. I’ve got an idea.”

He grabs Harry’s wrist in his and nearly pulls him off his feet, his towel slipping off his hips. He squeaks in the back of his throat and only realizes he’s made that noise when the Blue Eyes turns around and raises his eyebrows.

“Tryin’ to get naked on me, are ya?” he smirks, his eyes dancing over the whites of Harry’s knuckles.

Harry flushes, his eyes widening a fraction as if he couldn’t believe that those exact words just came out of this boy’s mouth. He opens his own mouth, ready to say something just as flirtatious back to him. Something good. Something that’ll make him swoon.

Only if you’ll let me.

That’s what he planned on saying.

“I like boys.”

Is what he actually ends up saying.

There’s muffled cackling in the background, and oh god—what has he gotten himself into? He’s a blubbering mess!

Blue Eyes pats his back, his hand resting gently on Harry’s waist. It’s patronizing. Harry hates being patronized.

“That’s good to know, Curly boy,” he says. “I like boys too.”

And fuck. Harry doesn’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.

Before he has any more time to ponder it, he and Blue Eyes walk down the hall, past Harry’s room and around the corner. The boy digs for the key in his pocket and unlocks it.

Harry feels only slightly jealous that he can get into his dorm room with little to no ease, unlike him.

“I’m Harry, by the way,” he says, stepping awkwardly into the room, his shower caddy bumping into his legs.

“Louis.”

Ah. The infamous Louis. The one with a bad roommate. The one who’s proud of his rainbow flag. The same Louis that he’ll have to share the futon with.

And he definitely wouldn’t mind sharing with him. Especially if it means getting to sleep right beside him. Nope. Definitely wouldn’t mind at all.

“My mom told me that this would be a complete waste of space in my room,” Louis says, interrupting Harry’s thoughts. And right. Louis has a plan of some sort. Which. Harry no idea what he’s even doing. He’s digging for something in his desk drawer and it obviously has to be pretty important if the way he’s scourging through his things says anything.

“What’re you looking for?” he asks, trying to look over his shoulder. Louis nudges him away lightly with his foot.

“You’ll find out sooner or later,” he says, closing the desk drawer and moving to his dresser. He digs through all the drawers, tossing clothes out of the way and onto the floor.

The boy is a slob. And it really shouldn’t be so endearing. His side of the room is trashed. Completely and utterly trashed. There are wrappers on the floor, books spewed across the bed, papers jostled on the desk. And looking around the room, Harry spots the crumpled rainbow flag bunched up in the corner. It lies there limply, all sad. It should be hanging proudly on the wall above his bed. It’d look nice there, he thinks.

“Found it!” Louis exclaims, holding up a black box that was buried underneath all his underwear. “I knew this would come in handy.”

He stands up and walks closer to Harry, presenting the box to him as if it held the secret to all secrets. He smiles so big and Harry swears he’s frozen from just looking at his smile. His teeth are slightly pointy but they’re oh so white. They could be on a toothpaste commercial, and Harry would be the fool that buys every single one just so he could stare at his dazzling smile each morning.

“What is it?”

Louis gasps, bringing the box to his chest in mock offence. “Harold, no! Please, do not tell me you don’t know what this is!” Harry has the decency to look sheepish. He shrugs his shoulders and shakes his head. “It’s the only way to get back into your dorm room, is what it is!”

He opens the lid and oh—would you look at that. It’s a lock pick set. A really cheap lock picking set that looks like it might’ve been bought at a convenient store.  
“Does it work?” he asks incredulously.

Louis shrugs his shoulders and then smiles with his chin tucked to his chest. “Don’t know, actually. But we’re about to find out.”

He walks to his closet and pulls out a black beanie and a black sweatshirt, tugging them both on hurriedly before chucking another black beanie at Harry.

“Put it on, Curly Boy. We’ve got to disguise you. Can’t have anyone seeing those lovely, curly locks you’ve got.”

Harry does not blush at that. He does not. But even still, he turns his face away and bites his bottom lip to hide his small smile.

“Disguise me?” he asks, sliding the beanie over his wet hair.

“Yes,” Louis sighs as if he’s talking to an imbecile. “We’re doing things against the rules, Harry. This is like high key ninja stuff. We need to blend in.”

Harry mocks seriousness and nods his head only to humor this boy. Clearly, they do not—by any means—blend in. Louis is wearing bright red sweatpants that you can see from a mile away, for God’s sake, and Harry’s not better with his pristine white towel, still wrapped firmly around on his waist with his hand keeping it in place so that it doesn’t fall.

“Okay before we go out there, we need code names, alright?” Harry just stares at him. “Don’t give me that look, Curly,” Louis continues. “As of now, I am Silent Thunder and you are…” he trails off, looking around the room. His eyes catch on the lamp that sits on his desk. He snaps his fingers and points at Harry. “You are Lampshade. Got it?”

“Lampshade?” Harry exclaims in utter disbelief. “Why do I get a stupid name like Lampshade?”

Louis giggles. He actually fucking giggles. The boy is supposedly two years older than Harry and yet he’s giggling. This boy is too pure for this earth.

“How should I know? I don’t make the rules, Lampshade,” he pats his check twice and then leads the way out the door. “Now let’s go.”

He pokes his head out into the hallway and then silently—oh so silently—begins to walk out of the room, his head whipping in every direction, his fingers held in a fake gun, and the kit tucked safely under his armpit. Harry watches him amused. The boy is tiptoeing—tiptoeing—down the hall, his back pressed up against the wall. He looks back at Harry, holding a finger up to his lips and waving him forward.

Harry humors him, or maybe it’s because he’s a bit whipped already, and looks both ways down the hall, holding his hands in a fake gun just like Louis. He cranes his neck around the corner, nodding his head once at the boy before tiptoeing onward him like the ever-so-graceful ninja that he is.

Except he’s not.

His shower shoes squeak every time he takes a step.

“Lampshade,” Louis hisses from down the hall. He’s holding his finger up to his lips. “Shh!” He pointedly glares at the shoes. There’s a hint of a smile on those beautiful lips, and Harry is in too deep. Dear god.

“I can’t help it,” he whispers. He drops to his knees beside Louis and waits for further instruction.

He should feel ridiculous right now. Here he is, holding his fingers in a gun, crawling around on the ground, and whispering code names to a boy he’s just met.  
And yet…

Nothing. No hint of embarrassment. No sense of shame. He feels comfortable. And that kind of scares him.

“Alright,” Louis says. He looks both ways and then back at Harry. His eyes are twinkling with mirth. That should be against the law. They’re much too pretty to be legal. “The coast is clear. Just follow my lead.”

He falls to the ground, rolling on his back down the rest of the hall until he stops right in front of Harry’s room. He waits patiently for Harry, beckoning him to copy exactly what he had just done, but Harry stands firmly in place.

“I am not rolling on my back in only my towel,” he deadpans.

“Come on,” he drags his words out, his bottom lip sticking out.

Harry is doomed. He’s known this boy for under ten minutes and already he can’t stop himself from throwing himself to the ground and rolling the rest of the way down the hall. He knows he looks absolutely stupid with his legs all sprawled out, his shower caddy and towel getting tangled up together. It makes him roll ungracefully on the floor, his arms getting caught in awkward positions and his shampoo bottle flying out of his basket.

He is definitely not going to be a ninja anytime soon. Way too loud for this kind of work.

By the time he gets to Louis, the boy is stifling laughter into his hands, his eyes glistening with amusement. And it’s just not fair.

“We’ll work on it,” he whispers, bumping his shoulder against Harry’s. “Wasn’t exactly ninja-like, now was it?”

“I’m in a towel,” he whines. He sounds like a toddler and somewhere in the back of his mind he knows he should be embarrassed for whining, but when Louis only laughs harder, it suddenly doesn’t seem so bad anymore.

“Yes, you are. So let’s get your door open so you can change.”

He picks up the lock kit, inspecting each tool and then plucks up the smallest one and holds it up to the light. He hums lowly under his breath, placing it back into the kit before taking the next tool and repeating the process. He goes through each lock pick…twice.

“You have no idea what you’re doing, do you?”

“Nope, not a clue,” he says, finally picking up a random one and bringing it up to the doorknob. “But hopefully this one will work.” He presses it firmly into the lock and there’s two clicks, which seems like it should be a good thing. Harry eagerly turns the knob and—

“Locked.”

“Alright,” Louis says easily. “Next one, it is.”

Except, that one doesn’t work either, and neither does the next one, or the next one after that, or even a lone bobby pin that Louis had stashed in the kit after he stole it from his sister. Nothing works.

Harry huffs, pressing his back up against the door and sliding down to the floor. “This isn’t working, Louis.”

The boy in turn nods his head in agreement and slides down the wall beside Harry, his head just inches away from his naked shoulder. His eyes are lowered, eyelashes just barely brushing his perfect, sun-kissed skin.

It should be awkward. Just sitting there on the ground with nothing to say. It should feel weird. But this—this is nice. It’s pleasant and comfortable and Harry doesn’t understand how he can feel so at ease with a person he’s only met ten minutes ago.

“Alright, Curly. We need a new plan.”

Harry looks at him, struck once again by Louis’ beauty when he notices a hint of a smile toying on his lips. It nearly knocks Harry’s breath away from just the mere and beautiful sight. 

“What are we doing now?”

“Just follow my lead,” he says, pushing himself up to his feet.

“That’s what you said last time, and then I ended up rolling around on the ground like a beached whale.”

Louis giggles—again. Fuck’s sake. Harry has no chance.

“This is better, I promise.” Without anymore hesitation, Louis starts banging his fists against the door. “Demetrius!” he screams. “I know you’re in there. Will you just open the damn door already?”

He kicks at the door, his fingers wrapping around the door knob and jiggling it.

“As I’ve mentioned before,” the boy calls back, a sigh in his voice. “I’m actually quite busy at the moment. And you two are giving me a rather painful headache right now, so if you’d be so kind as to stop banging on the door, I would be ever so grateful.”

“Oh, you have a headache, do you?” Louis coos. “I’m sorry to hear that!” he says as he starts banging his fists on the door once again.

And as much as Harry wants to beam at the thought of Louis fighting his battles, he realizes that irritating his roommate past his breaking point won’t do him any good. He reluctantly pulls him away from the door, shaking his head ‘no,’ when Louis goes to protest.

“It’s not worth it, Louis.”

The boy crosses his arms, tucking his chin into his chest. “It’s Silent Thunder,” he mumbles.

This boy.

He’s pouting. And all Harry wants to do is kiss his pout right off those lips. And that is not good. Not good at all. Especially since he just met the boy and he knows nothing about him other than the fact that his name is Louis and he acts like a child.

“Well, what are you gonna do now?” Louis asks. He stops for a brief second and then snaps his fingers. “We can wait until Demetrius comes out of his room so we can jump on him!”

He says it with such enthusiasm, like it might possibly be the best idea of all time. His eyes are very close to sparkling, and already, it’s obvious that those sparkles are never a good sign.

“I’m not about to be expelled from college on the second day of school, Louis. No. I’ll just get the spare key from downstairs, I guess.” Louis frowns and it’s adorable. Harry is well and truly fucked.

“You’re gonna get quite the attention down there,” he smirks, smacking Harry’s bum playfully as he brushes past him.

Harry does not squeak. It was his shower shoes.

He turns around, forcing a smirk on his face so Louis knows that he can be equally, if not more, flirty. “If it’s like any of the attention you’re giving me, then it shouldn’t be too bad.”

Louis fish mouths for a second, his eyes darting anywhere but at Harry for a split second. “Uh, right,” he stammers. He shakes his head, running a hand through his hair and clearing his throat. “Well good luck with that.”

“You’re not coming down with me?” Harry asks, his voice tiny.

“Nope,” Louis says confidently, leaning back against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. The cocky jerk. “I’m gonna stay right here. It shouldn’t be too bad.”

And Harry would like to think that, but as it turns out, Louis is wrong. Very wrong. The walk downstairs is utterly horrible. As soon as he steps foot in the lobby, his shower shoes squeak against the tile and all heads, including the group of girls lounging on the sofa, snap their heads up to see what the noise is.

Immediately, they start giggling, whispering little secrets while eyeing Harry up and down. He lowers his eyes to the ground, feeling his face heat up in embarrassment, his blush traveling all the way down to his bare and naked chest. Never in his life has he ever felt more uncomfortable than he does now. He brings his shower caddy in front of his lower half, trying to sustain some kind of modesty even though that is well and out the window by now.

“In a bit of predicament there?” the man asks behind the desk. He’s smirking, already digging through one of the drawers in search for the keys. “What’s your name?”

Harry mutters his reply into his hand, trying to will away his everlasting blush still high on his cheekbones. The girls behind him won’t stop giggling and it’s not helping Harry any. He shifts uneasily on his feet, moving his hands to cover his bum and feeling ridiculous for even doing so.

“There you go,” the man says, holding out the spare key for Harry. “Bring it back down after you’ve gotten in and changed.”

Harry quickly thanks him and snags the keys out of his hand, racing out the door even faster when people start wolf whistling at him, his shower shoes protesting the whole way there. They squeak and glide over the slippery floors, nearly making him fall flat on his ass in front of everyone.

He’s going to kill Demetrius. He is.

By the time he gets back to his room, his thoughts are so completely filled with anger that he almost didn’t even notice that the door is already open, Demetrius nowhere in sight. He pokes his head in the room, startled to see Louis in there already.

“How’d you get in here?” he asks dumbly.

“Demetrius left it open when he left,” he replies, flicking his hair out of his eyes.

“What do you mean he left?” Harry whines, stopping in the middle of his doorway, his shoulders falling slack. Louis’ draped over Harry’s comfy chair set up in the corner, his feet propped up on the dresser, a bag of chips in his hand.

He looks like a Greek God. Harry should go get some grapes and feed him while simultaneously fanning him with big leaves. That’s still a thing, right?

“He left,” Louis repeats, shrugging his shoulders. “Right as you started walking away, he came out, left the door wide open so I let myself in.”

“And you didn’t stop me before I made an absolute tit of myself in front of everyone downstairs?”

Louis laughs. Fuck him. “Well, now you have a great story, don’t you?”

“There were girls down there, Louis,” Harry groans, the memories of his absolute humiliation still fresh in his mind. He knocks Louis’ feet off the dresser and pretends like he doesn’t see the way his face pulls into a pout. He’s supposed to be mad. Not falling at Louis’ feet, damn it.

“Well, what difference does it make? You don’t like girls, anyway. You even said so yourself. I believe that was the first thing you said to me.”

And now he’s smirking. Fucking hell. Harry’s a puddle. He’s a puddle at Louis’ feet, completely fallen for him and slowly drowning himself. This is unacceptable. It shouldn’t be allowed that he can fall so quickly for some boy that he’s just met. It’s not fair.

“Well yeah,” he starts, fumbling with the new clothes in his hands just trying to distract himself from the blush that’s starting to rise once again on his cheeks. “But…I was only in a towel and I have boy parts, Louis, and girls—they don’t have those.”

“Boy parts!” he exclaims, laughing hysterically as he repeats it. “I’m sorry. You mean your penis? Testicles, maybe? Dick? Balls? Cock? Which word do you prefer? Because I certainly do not know any eighteen year old who still refers to his male genitalia as his boy parts.”

Harry huffs and crosses his arms. His face feels like it’s on fire, but there’s an odd sense of pride in his stomach. Like he’s proud of the fact that Louis is making fun of him. And that’s quite ridiculous because Louis’ literally on the floor right now, laughing his ass off as he teases him. He should find it annoying—maddening, even. Yet, here he is.

“Do you need help saying it?” Louis taunts further, his voice becoming a pitch higher as if he’s talking to a five year old. “Say it with me now. Pe-nis,” he says, clapping on each syllable.

“You’re a dick!” Harry yells, throwing a pillow at his face and snagging the bag of chips out of his hand.

Louis’ not at all phased. He just laughs even harder. “Oh, congratulations! You do know your boy parts! I’m so proud! You’ve come so far!”

“Fuck off,” Harry says, forcing his feet to turn away so he can keep his idiotic smile to himself. He shimmies his underwear up his long legs, keeping the towel firmly in place as he does so. The last thing he needs right now is to give a peep show, which doesn’t seem like all that bad of an idea, now that he thinks about it. He likes when Louis’ eyes are on him.

He turns his head to look over his shoulder at Louis, secretly hoping that the older boy is watching him get changed.

He’s not looking.

There’s a small part in Harry’s heart that has shattered, which is just completely and utterly absurd, and he secretly hates himself for even thinking that.  
He quickly throws on one of his nicer shirts, ruffling his hair up with a towel some more before stashing it away and joining Louis on the other side of the room. He’s looking at pictures, his eyes stopped on one of Harry on the farm.

“That’s my baby girl,” he beams, gesturing to his pink and black pig in the frame. “Her name is Noodles.”

Louis turns his body towards Harry, raising his eyebrows slightly. “You have a pet pig named Noodles?”

“Well she’s not technically a pet, I guess,” he says, looking at Noodles in awe. “We live on a farm so there are other animals…but she’s the only pig. And she’s my baby noodle, so.” Louis looks at him incredulously, so naturally, Harry prattles on because apparently he rambles in front of cute boys. “We found her. Well, I guess she found us, actually. She was just tottering down the road one day and—mind you, we live in the middle of nowhere—so we still have no idea where she came from. But, I like to think it’s fate that brought us together, you know? She’s so cute. She’s the only pig on our farm, so she’s the princess, and—”

He stops himself by physically biting down on his tongue. Louis’ looking at him with an amused glint in his eye and Harry really wishes he could take back everything he just said. He sounds like a right idiot. Like one of those people who’s never stepped foot outside their farm and is now experiencing the real world for the first time.

“Please don’t make fun of me for anything I just said,” he quickly backtracks. “Let’s just pretend that I never said anything at all.”

Louis, though clearly very amused, nods his head and looks at a different picture hanging up on the wall. “I’ll let it slide, Curly. But only this one time. Any other day I’m gonna take the piss out of you.”

“Got it.”

Louis smiles, nodding his head once. “Good.”

There’s a brief moment where it’s quiet. Louis’ thoughtfully looking at the few posters scattered around the room and Harry is taking him in once again. He really can’t help it. Everything about him is just so…cute. His mismatched socks—one striped, one polka dotted—are pushed up to his calves and his red sweatpants are haphazardly tucked into them, almost as if Louis couldn’t decide whether or not he wanted his socks to show or not. It’s ridiculous looking, especially the colors—red sweatpants and neon green and orange socks. But somehow, it works for him. And it’s endearing. Which is totally not helping Harry win his losing battle against his quickly developing crush on Louis.

Fuck. 

“So, uh. Where’d you grow up?” he asks, finally breaking the calm silence between them. He takes a seat on the rug, resting his elbows on his knees.

“Roseville,” Louis replies, taking a seat beside Harry.

He rests his back up against the dresser and grunts when the corner digs into his skin. There are so many better places to sit in the room, like the comfy chair in the corner or the beanbag, but this just feels right. It’s relaxing and so calming, and it’s so Louis. He sits as if he’s a kindergartner and it makes him look so small and tiny. Harry just wants to scoop him up and put him in his pocket. And that’s strange. So very strange.

“Oh, yeah,” Harry says. “Liam told me you grew up with him and Niall.”

“Yeah. Lived a few houses down from Payno. Met him when he was only a few weeks old, actually, but we really only started to hang out when my little sister was born a few years later. I went over to his house to get away from all the crying.”

“You have a little sister?”

“Five of them, actually. And one baby brother.” He says it with such a soft voice, like he’s proud of them and loves them with all of his heart. There’s a glint in his eye, and there is nothing better than someone who has a soft spot for family. “They’re all a pain in the ass, if you ask me.”

Harry snorts. “You love them.”

Louis nods his head, whispering out a small ‘yeah,’ and toying with the shag rug between his fingers. “You’re right. I do love them.”

“Tell me about them,” Harry says, leaning in even closer.

It feels intimate, like Louis’ letting him into a big part of his life. And from the way he talks about them, they are a big part of his life. He tells stories upon stories of just his baby twin brother and sister alone, and they’re only two years old.

It’s not like they’re even that exciting, either. They’re small things, like the way they gnawed on their hands when they were just little, tiny babies, or how Louis was often woken up in the middle of the night when they started crying. But it’s the way that he tells them that makes it so interesting. There’s a certain fondness in his voice, one that’s so soft and joyful that makes even the most boring stories sound so interesting. From just his body posture alone to the way he’s smiling to himself and giggling about random memories—it really makes every story sound so incredible, so amazing; like it’s the most important story and most exciting thing to have ever happened. And Harry is beyond honored to be able to listen to all of them.

And he does listen to all of them. He asks him questions and watches his facial expressions as he retells countless stories of all his siblings. He listens to him wholeheartedly and stashes them away in the deepest corners of his brain, ready for retrieval whenever the time comes. He just likes Louis so much, and this entire conversation has not helped any. He is falling for this boy. From the way his eyes are wide and open to the way his toes curl and uncurl sporadically.

“It’s dark out,” Louis says suddenly, looking out the window.

He’s right. It’s very dark out. The moon is shining behind the trees and lamp lights create shadows.

“What time is it?” Harry asks, grabbing his phone out of his pocket. “It’s already nine.”

“Shit,” Louis chuckles. “I’ve been rambling for an hour and a half. You must hate me.”

“No,” he says softly, shaking his head. “I could never hate you.”

It’s quiet in the room and Harry almost wants to take his words and stuff it back into his mouth. But then Louis smiles dopily at him and Harry feels his worry fade away.

“Well, I should probably head back to my room and get ready for tomorrow. First day and all that.”

Harry nods his head despite feeling like his heart has sunk down to his stomach. He doesn’t want Louis to leave. He wouldn’t mind if he stayed in his room and talked to him all night about God knows what. He likes the sound of his voice. Maybe a bit too much.

“Don’t remind me,” Harry groans.

“Oh, Farmer Boy. College life isn’t too bad. What’s your earliest class tomorrow?”

“7:30.”

“7:30!” Louis shrieks. “Why the hell did you choose a 7:30 class, you idiot? That’s your own fault! You never choose 7:30 classes.”

“It’s the only time they had for my calculus class!”

Louis shakes his head, mumbling words under his breath that sound remarkably similar to ‘idiot.’ And Harry must really be an idiot because all he can do is smile when he hears Louis say it.

“I suppose I should let you go then,” he says, not making any move to stand up. It makes Harry feel giddy.

“I know I’m very charming and handsome, Louis, but we all need our beauty rest.”

Louis chuckles, finally standing up to his feet and brushing off the nonexistent dirt off his butt. And Harry knows it’s nonexistent because he spent a fair amount of time ogling over it. Not that he’ll admit that or anything.

“Not me,” he says. “I’m just naturally beautiful.”

Yes, you are. 

“If you say so,” he says instead, earning himself a smack across the back of his head. He lets out an indignant yelp, walking with Louis to the door and watching him as he rounds the corner at the end of the hall, throwing a small wave over his shoulder. Harry waves back and stands in the doorway long after Louis has disappeared.

He is well and truly fucked.

///

Harry is stupid. He’s stupid and tired and hungry and so fed up with himself. Why on Earth did he ever think that signing up for a 7:30am class was a good idea? And why did he think it was an even better idea to put four classes in one day, the last ending at 5:30?

News flash. It is not a good idea.

To put it simply, his first day of college sucks.

And now, all he wants to do is face plant into his bed and sleep for hours. That sounds heavenly.

He stands in front of his locked door, digging around in his backpack in search for his keys. After the whole mishap yesterday, he never leaves the room without bringing it. Not even to go to the bathroom. Not even to wash his hands down at the end of the hall. Not even when he throws something away in the trash right next to his dorm room. Because if there’s one thing that he’s learned in the past two days that he’s lived here, it’s that Demetrius will lock the door any chance he gets, even if it means he has to pull his lazy ass out of his bed when he’s trying to take a nap.

Apparently, Harry annoys him. Which, it doesn’t make even sense because Harry’s barely held any sort of conversation with him. In fact, he sometimes finds himself tiptoeing around the room just to avoid the glare Demetrius shoots at him whenever he’s making too much noise.

It’s so ridiculous and Harry hates everything about it.

“Hello?” he asks, opening the door and flicking the lights on.

And there he is, sitting at his desk with his phone in front of him. Like it isn’t at all weird that he’s sitting in complete darkness with the curtains closed and only the light from his phone illuminating the room.

“I see you’ve brought your key this time,” Demetrius snarls, his eyes trailing down Harry’s arm and landing on his hand where he holds his key in his fist.

Harry can feel his blood begin to boil. A snappy remark right on the tip of his tongue. He swallows it down.

“I always have my key on me,” he says instead, walking into the room and slamming his backpack down on the floor. He’s being passive aggressive. Sue him.

“Funny,” Demetrius says, standing up and turning off the lights. The room goes pitch black once again. “The word, ‘always’ is quite a big word, you realize. I wouldn’t use that word if you don’t know the correct pragmatics behind it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Harry asks as politely as he can, flicking the lights back on.

“Need I remind you of the time you forgot your key just yesterday? Or is your brain not developed enough to retain such information.”

Harry seethes. He clutches the edge of his desk until his knuckles turn white, trying desperately to control his breathing and keep calm.

It’s not working.

“Excuse me?” he forces out, whipping around to face Demetrius. “You were the one that locked me out.”

“Ah, yes. Well, it wouldn’t have been a problem had you brought your key, which brings us right back to where we started. I’d advice you not to use the word ‘always.’”

And that’s how he ends up in Niall and Liam’s room. It may be his permanent residence for the rest of the year, he reasons.

“I hate him,” he mutters as soon as he steps foot in their room.

They all glance up at him for a second before returning to whatever they were doing before, nodding their heads in agreement as if they know exactly what he’s talking about.

And now that he thinks about, they probably do know, actually. They grew up with him for many years, after all.

Poor, unfortunate souls.

He walks to the futon, falling heavily in between Liam and Louis, feeling only slightly dazed when Louis pats his leg. Just slightly. It’s not that big of a deal.

Never mind the fact that he’s been thinking about the boy a lot today. Never mind the fact that he’s been eager just to hear him speak again and see his face once more. Never mind the fact that he’s got fucking electricity racing through his entire body at just the mere touch.

So, it’s really not that big of a deal. Nope.

“Demetrius giving you a hard time?” Liam asks, his eyes locked on his phone. He grins at the screen, his fingers typing fast.

Harry only groans in response, his head falling accidentally onto Louis’ shoulder. It’s a complete accident. Nothing more. Though, that doesn’t explain the reason as to why he’s now inhaling his scent, noting the sweet and clean laundry tinge on his soft t-shirt. There’s a hint of something even sweeter, like coconut, but it’s not strong enough to identify.

“He implied that I’m stupid,” he whines, stuffing his face even further into Louis’ shirt. “Why does he hate me so much?”

Louis rubs Harry’s arm sweetly up and down and Harry preens at the touch, leaning in even further and bumping his head at Louis’ hand, forcing him to card his fingers through his curls.

“You’re an actual kitten,” Louis sighs dramatically, tugging at some of the knots in his hair. “You know that?”

“I’ve always thought I was more of a dog.”

“Nope, definitely a kitten,” Louis says confidently, scratching at his scalp and giggling as Harry’s eyes flutter close.

This is nice. He likes this. Maybe a little too much, but it’s okay, he supposes.

“Aren’t you two just adorable?” Niall asks from the floor. He sits up on his elbows and watches their exchange. “Look at them, Li. Tell me they’re not adorable.”

Harry smiles, leaning in even closer if it’s possible. He’s so wrapped up in Niall’s comment that he doesn’t even realize how Louis’ hand stills in his hair or the way he pulls his body away slightly.

“Two lovebirds,” Liam agrees, his eyes still on his phone.

Harry beams, feeling his stomach toss and turn at their words. He could get used to this kind of teasing. He wouldn’t mind at all if they continued. It makes him feel silly and innocent, like a five year old with his first crush.

He looks up to see how Louis’ taking it, wondering if he’s feeling as bashful and happy as he is and hoping that he’s blushing.

And he is. But it’s not a good kind of blush.

“Louis?” he asks, sitting up a little to look him in the eyes. He’s not looking at Harry. Purposely. Not even when Harry situates himself right in the middle of his vision. He just looks away.

“Uh,” he stammers, pushing Harry gently off of him and stands up, his eyes flying everywhere around the room. “I have to go Facetime Jack.”

He makes a beeline for the door, only stopping briefly when he hears Niall’s voice ring out behind him.

“Jack?”

“Yeah,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “Haven’t talked to him in a long while.”

“You’re still talking to him?” he grumbles.

“Yes, Niall. I am,” he snaps, glaring at him.

“Thought you broke up.”

“Well we got back together. Now if you’ll excuse me,” he says, stomping out of the room, leaving Niall to mumble to himself and Harry to stare at the spot where Louis’ feet just were. His heart feels like it stopped beating, the still air suddenly becoming much louder in his ears.

“Whose Jack?” he hears himself ask. His voice sounds like it’s miles away. Like he’s detached from his body and he’s sinking down.

“Jackson,” Niall mumbles. “Remember? Jackson who’s still in high school and acts like an absolute, fucking child?”

Harry racks his brain, going through all the names Niall spewed out that first day of meeting him. And then it hits him. Jackson. The boy who can’t even drive yet. Who happens to be dating a sophomore in college. A sophomore named Tommo.

“But wait,” he hears himself saying. “I thought you said he was dating Tommo or something like that?”

“Tommo is Louis’ nickname,” he says, not taking his eyes off the screen. "Louis Tomlinson. Tomlinson...Tommo, yeah?"

There are cheers coming from the TV and he can distantly hear Liam chuckling to his right, the clock ticking above his head, and the way Niall is muttering under his breath. But other than that, he doesn’t register anything else.

“Oh,” he whispers. "Clever, yeah."

And there it is again. That detached feeling. Like he’s drowning and being pulled away from his own body that somehow stays afloat. He’s drowning and no matter how hard he’s trying to break the surface, he keeps falling down farther and farther towards the bottom.

“I don’t get why he’s still seeing that immature prick,” Niall grumbles from the ground. Liam kicks his arm.

“Niall, shut up. Get over it. If he’s happy then you should be happy, too.”

And even though that sentence is directed at Niall, Harry takes it to heart. It stabs him in the chest and makes him feel so guilty. But even still, he can’t help but feel shattered because Louis is taken and Harry may never get the chance to call him his boyfriend.

He forces himself to turn his attention to the TV, not at all really paying attention to who’s winning or losing. He doesn’t care.

“Who’s playing?” he asks, his voice tight, once again sounding like it’s underwater.

He doesn’t even hear the answer to his question. His mind is blank. Everything is numb and he is frozen. He lets his eyes fall closed and soon after, he falls asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Harry wakes up groggy. He’s lying on something hard, something that’s jabbing him right above his butt, and his sleep-induced brain is too tired to distinguish what it is. He shifts onto his side, pressing his nose into the soft pillow under his head. It smells nice, and not at all like his own pillow.

His eyes shoot open only to be met with complete darkness, the only light coming from a slit in the curtains. There’s soft and even breathing coming from above him and then he remembers. He fell asleep in Niall and Liam’s room last night.

He’s just about to sit up when a hand brushes his wrist, fingers circling around it. He gasps, his eyes snapping to it and then to the lump that lies beside him.

“Shh,” it says.

Harry’s eyes widen. It’s Louis.

Louis with the beautiful blue eyes. Louis who lets him snuggle into his chest and play with his hair. Louis who has a boyfriend.

The new information floods back into his memory, pushing their way to the front. And for the first time, he feels it. He feels the heart wrenching pain. He feels the ghost of a touch on his wrist where Louis’ fingers press against his skin. He wants nothing more than to press himself up against his warm body and feel the warmth on his back. He wants nothing more than to wrap himself up in his arms and cuddle against his chest. He wants that and so much more.

And he can’t have any of it. Because Louis has a boyfriend and Harry can’t get in the middle of it.

He falls onto the floor, the blanket that must’ve been draped over him at some point during the night tangling up his limbs and making his body flail around in a desperate attempt at getting away. He can see the outline of Louis’ body sitting up, his eyes probably worried and wide.

But before he can get a word out, Harry races out of the room, stopping only for a second so he can quietly close the door behind him and race to his dorm room next door. He fumbles with the key in the knob, his fingers shaking while his heart thumps wildly against his chest.

By the time gets the door open, there’s no sign of Demetrius in the room, but the clock on his desk shows that it’s currently one in the morning, meaning that he’s probably fast asleep at this point.

He drags himself up the ladder to his bed, pulling the blankets over his head and stuffing his face into the pillow. He doesn’t close his eyes. They stay wide open, staring blankly ahead of him into the utter darkness, a cool chill running down his spine. Once again, he’s in a sort of haze. It’s like he’s detached from his body, his mind miles away as endless loops of silent thoughts wrap around his head. For a long while, he lays there perfectly still, listening to his breathing and the way the air is getting heavier and heavier underneath the blankets. It isn’t until something wet and salty drips into his mouth that he realizes that he’s been crying the whole time.

He wipes at his eyes, his cheeks hot and wet while his nose starts to drip with snot. He feels silly, like a teenager going through his very first heartbreak. And it’s just so stupid. He’s known Louis for two days—he can’t possibly feel so heavy hearted right now. What is there to be so emotional over? Sure, he has a boyfriend, but that doesn’t mean that he’ll never get to see him again. Besides, it’s so selfish of him to wish that Louis would drop his boyfriend and crawl to him. It’s selfish and foolish and stupid.

But even still, he can’t help himself when his thoughts return to the day before, when they sat side by side in this very room and talked about nothing important for an hour and a half. He can’t deny the spark that he felt in his bones when he sat there listening to the boy ramble on and on about his many sisters and one brother. He can’t deny the sense of comfort he felt in his stomach, a burst of butterflies accompanying it every time Louis looked at him and smiled. He can’t even deny the fact that he had fun with Louis, doing absolutely ridiculous things that were childish and immature, and though they were acting incredibly silly, Harry never once felt embarrassed to be seen crouching through the halls with his hand held in a pretend gun.

And all of these reasons can be traced back to the boy with the pretty blue eyes. The same boy who would turn around and smile the most beautiful and heartbreaking smile that nearly knocked Harry off his feet each and every time, without fail. The same boy who happens to have a boyfriend that’s not Harry.

And that—that’s what gets him. Because he wants that. He wants to be Louis’ boyfriend. He wants someone laidback, spontaneous, and fun. He wants someone that will make him laugh, someone that will cuddle him when he’s sad, and someone who makes everything seem so easy. He’s been dreaming of this person for years, and now that he’s finally met him, it hurts to know that the one person he wants is already taken by someone else. It hurts so much, and it’s so stupid.

Suddenly, the lights turn on. Harry freezes in his bed, pushing his hand against his mouth to keep his cries quiet. He peaks his head out of the top of the blanket.

Demetrius is prattling through his things on his desk.

“Um, Demetrius,” he says, his voice cracking on the two words. He clears his throat. “Do you think you could turn the lights off, please?”

Demetrius turns around, his eyes instantly turning into slits. “I see you have some red eyes there,” he says, not making any move to turn off the lights. “I’m assuming you’ve been smoking pot and getting high for the past few hours?”

Harry doesn’t say anything. He stares at his roommate and feels like he’s been run over by a truck a few dozen times, his comments only making him feel worse. He can feel the way Demetrius is looking at him, probably noticing the way his eyes are red rimmed and the way his cheeks are stained with his tears. It’s only when he realizes that Harry’s not fighting back, that Demetrius’ face loosens up.

“Hey,” he says, his voice softening to something that Harry has never witnessed before. “Are you alright?”

The room falls dark once again when the lights are turned off. Harry digs the heel of his palms into his eyes, forcing the tears in place. “Yeah,” he whispers, turning onto his side and hugging his knees to his chest.

Demetrius doesn’t say anything for the rest of the night, but Harry knows he can hear him whimpering every so often.

///

There are bags underneath his eyes the next morning. They’re dark and big and ugly, and Harry hates them. He hates them because they remind him of how little sleep he got last night, and emphasizes the point of his absolute stupidity. Honestly, losing sleep over some boy? It’s ridiculous.

Needless to say, he feels ten times better than he did last night. He admits that there is still a sliver of sadness buried somewhere deep in his chest, but other than, there’s really nothing else. He’s perfectly okay with being friends with Louis, because at least then, he can still get to see him each and every day . Besides, things can be even more relaxed if they stay friends. Things would be much too complicated if they were anything more than friends.

Or at least that’s what he’s telling himself right now.

He slips on his shoes and closes the door behind him quietly as to not wake up Demetrius who’s still fast asleep. Had Demetrius not asked Harry if he was all right last night, he probably would have slammed the door shut. But as it is, the boy was actually very sincere with his question and maybe it’s a sign that he wants to start things over with his roommate. And if he’s willing to try, then so is Harry.

“Hey.” He turns around only to be met with Niall and Liam standing behind them. “We’re just about to go grab some breakfast with Louis before our class starts. You wanna join?”

Louis. Even his name gives him butterflies.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

With a quick glance at the time, he nods his head. He only has a half an hour to get to class, and it’s on the opposite side of campus, but he’s hungry. Or at least that’s what he’s telling himself. It’s certainly not because of the boy that will be there. Not at all.

“Great, Tommo’s got us a table already,” Niall says as they begin walking to the nearest dining court. “We just need to find him. He plays this stupid game called ‘come find me.’”

“How does it work?”

“He sends us a picture of his surroundings and then captions it with ‘come find me.’”

“They’re horrible pictures though,” Liam adds, holding open the door to the dining court. They swipe their IDs and enter. “He sends us zoomed in pictures of his food, an ant on the ground, a person on the opposite side of the room. He takes pictures of small and stupid things on purpose, so it takes us forever to finally find him.”

Harry laughs, pushing any kind of fond feelings down to the pit of his stomach so he doesn’t fall even harder for the boy. It’s cute, yes, but that doesn’t mean anything. It’s just a little fun fact about his new friend.

“Sounds like something he’d do,” he settles for, walking away from the two boys so he can look at the different foods for breakfast. Everything is crap. The food looks almost plastic and disgusting, so he ends up with a bowl of cereal and a banana on the side.

He makes three loops around the entire cafeteria just trying to find his friends, and when he finally spots Niall’s blond hair in the corner, he makes his way over there, training his eyes to stay on his bowl of cereal. He’s not sure if he’s ready to look at Louis yet. He hasn’t physically prepared himself against his beauty.

“There he is,” Niall says around a mouth full of eggs, some landing on the table in front of Harry.

He grimaces at it and sets his bowl down across from Louis. “Morning,” he says, finally making eye contact with the boy.

His heart startles for a second, his eyes latching onto the ones in front of him. He’s wearing blue today, which is completely unfair, to say the least. It brings out his eyes even more and Harry really doesn’t need to be reminded how very blue they actually are. He very well knows that they’re the most beautiful shade to have ever existed.

“You didn’t have to leave last night, you know.” Harry brings his attention back to Louis, his confusion obviously seen on his face. “I don’t mind sharing the futon with you,” he further explains.

Right. Of course he wants to talk about the one thing that Harry wishes he’d forget about.

He brings a spoonful of cereal up to his mouth, chewing thoughtfully while thinking about his reply. He knows that he didn’t have to leave. But he ended up crying last night and that’s probably better to do in private than in front of the boy who made him cry in the first place.

“Oh, I know,” he finally says. “I wasn’t planning on sleeping there. I just fell asleep.”

“Right,” Louis says skeptically. You seemed to want to get out of there pretty fast. Thought I might’ve done something.”

Yeah, having a boyfriend.

“No,” Harry reassures him, gently knocking his foot against Louis’ and then instantly pulling back when he realizes that’s considered footsies. “The futon was hurting my back,” he lies. “I didn’t want to be in pain today.”

“You’ve got a bad back?” Liam asks.

“Unfortunately. Been trying to do some yoga lately, but it’s hard.”

Niall groans beside him. “My doctor made me do some yoga once. Worst thing I’ve ever done in my life.”

And at that, he launches into his story. Harry tries to pay attention, he really does, but his eyes keep traveling back to Louis. He’s looking down at his plate, his eyelashes so long and brushing against the delicate skin underneath his eyes. He looks like a painting, like someone only an artist can create.

It’s all like a slap in the face, really. It’s like a practical joke, and Harry bets some kind of deity is running it. They’re probably laughing right now, thinking about how they put this wonderful and amazing boy in Harry’s life only to make him very much off limits.

Screw them.

He looks back down at his own cereal, forcing himself to keep his eyes on his breakfast and only his breakfast. He can resist Louis’ charm. He can.

Except, he really can’t.

Because then Louis starts humming under his breath and Harry finds himself leaning forward in his seat to try and decipher what it is that he’s singing. He can’t figure it out, especially not when he stops abruptly and his eyebrows furrow. He pushes his eggs around in a circle, his face slowly falling back into something serene and the humming continues.

Harry would give anything to know what he’s thinking right now, wondering if maybe he’s thinking about him, and hoping that he is.

Then he realizes that, if anything, he’s probably thinking about Jack.

Which doesn’t hurt at all. Nope.

That Jackass.

He unpeels his banana and bites the top of it, pushing away any jealous thoughts from his head. It’s futile. He’s jealous.

With one final sigh, he pushes away from the table and clears his throat. “Well, I need to get to class,” he says, “so I’ll see you guys later.”

“You just got here,” Louis notices, his eyes finally looking up from his plate. Once again, they make Harry stammer in his own speech.

“I just wanted to stop and have some breakfast with you guys.”

“What time is your next class?”

“In about…” he glances at his phone for the time, “eight minutes,” he says, standing up from the table and grabbing his plate. “And it’s on the other side of campus, so hopefully I won’t get lost on the way there.”

Louis’ eyes widen and he quickly stands up from the table with him. “I’ll help you get there,” he says. “Can’t have my little freshie getting lost on the second day of school, now can we?”

And it’s really no big deal that Louis referred to him as his little freshie. No big deal at all.

Except it has Harry’s stomach in twists and his brain in a blur.

“You’re pretty lucky to have me, young Harold,” he continues as they both throw a wave over their shoulder at Liam and Niall. “I happen to know the ins and outs of this school. I can easily get you to your destination,” he adds, walking out the door. “Now, where is it that you need to get to exactly?”

“Microbiology,” Harry groans, handing Louis his crinkled paper with the name of the building and the room number on it.

“O’Connell?” Louis exclaims. “Harry that’s like a fifteen minute walk from here! Why did you wait to start walking over with only seven minutes?”

“I don’t know!” he groans out, even though he knows the real reason for waiting until the last minute. He wanted to see Louis that morning. Which is so utterly pathetic and he’s never in a million years telling Louis that. “I’m an idiot, I know.”

He’s not even sure if he’s talking to himself at this point or answering Louis’ question.

“Yes, you are,” Louis says, bumping his shoulder against his, his strides becoming longer. “But we’ll get you there on time, my friend. Don’t you worry a single curly strand on your head.”

With that, he starts racing down the street, his backpack bumping along on his back and his laughter heard from over his shoulder. Harry’s confused for a few solid seconds before he shakes his head and takes off running after Louis. He can’t help but think that this is some kind of strange metaphor in his life—chasing after Louis.

“Come on, Curly!” he shouts, craning his head over his shoulder to look back at him. “You should be running much faster with those long legs you’ve got!”

“Just because I have long legs doesn’t mean that I know how to use them!”

He can hear Louis’ giggling once again and that’s the only thing Harry can thank when he’s suddenly shoulder to shoulder to Louis. His cheeks are flushed from the run, his hair whipped in every direction. He has to turn away just so he wouldn’t do anything stupid like kiss him. That’s probably a big no-no on the list of things not to do with your friend.

“Louis, can we walk?” he asks in between his pants of air. “I haven’t run in a long time.”

Louis—bless him—thankfully does slow his pace down to a jog and then finally they walk side by side, both their breaths labored with exhaustion.

“We’re almost there anyway,” Louis says. He glances at his phone for the time, humming when he sees that they still have five minutes to get to class. “So microbiology, hm?”

Harry nods his head, brushing his hair off his face. “’M studying premed.”

“Ooh. A proper doctor, are you?”

Harry’s not sure why he’s blushing. His face feels warm and he has no idea why. “I want to be neonatologist,” he murmurs, his chin tucking into his chest to conceal his flush cheeks.

“I’m gonna be completely blunt with you for a second, alright? But you can’t laugh at me.”

“Never,” Harry promises.

“What the fuck is a nematologist?” And Harry breaks his promise. He’s laughing and there’s no going back. Louis pouts, crossing his arms over his chest. “You said you wouldn’t laugh,” he whines, a small smile on his face so Harry knows that he’s not all upset.

“I’m sorry,” he says, trying to recollect himself. He clears his throat and then turns to face Louis. “Neonatologist,” he corrects. “They work with newborn babies in the hospital.”

“That must be a lot of school.”

“Yeah. At least thirteen years.”

Louis whistles lowly. “Damn, Curly. You must really love babies to put yourself through that much school. No way I’d do that.”

Harry nods his head. “Love babies. I could be around them all day and never get tired of them.”

“Me too,” Louis agrees. They stop in front of a building that’s got rustic letters on the front spelling out ‘O’Connell.’ “I think I’m gonna adopt a boat load of kids when I’m older.”

Harry internally soars at his confession, his heart completely melting away with everlasting fondness and admiration for this sweet and loving boy standing in front of him.

“Me too,” he whispers, looking at him with what he knows must be a dopey face. He really can’t help it, especially not when he starts imagining himself with kids running around his feet, a baby in his arms, and a matching one in Louis’.

And now that he’s starting to think about his future with Louis, there’s no turning back. He can see everything with Louis. Their first date. Their wedding. Their first house. Their kids. Shit. This is not good.

“I think Jack likes babies too.”

And that’s when his future with Louis crashes and falls. Harry stares at him, feeling his eyebrows crease in the middle, his heart sinking to his stomach. He’s looking at Louis and wondering why he suddenly seems so far away, why he’s taking steps away from him, why he’s wringing his fingers in the hem of his shirt. All Harry wants to do is hold him close and cuddle him.

“My boyfriend, Jack, likes to play with my baby siblings all the time,” Louis continues, his eyes flirting around his surroundings. “So I’m sure he’d like to have a big family, as well. I’m sure he’d be a great father someday.”

Harry stills at his confession, his blood running cold. He can hear it pumping in his ears, all other sounds seeming to vanish around him. He sees Louis standing in front of him—Louis with his beautiful blue eyes. Louis with a love for children and mischief. Louis, with a boyfriend back home and is very much off the market at the moment.

Stupid. Harry is stupid and naïve and an idiot. How could he even dream of a future with someone who’s already taken?

“Oh,” he manages to say, his heart crumbling in his chest. He starts backing up, his feet hitting the edge of the steps, his body feeling way too heavy on his feet, all of a sudden. “Yeah,” he stutters. “Uh, thanks for getting me to the building.”

Louis nods his head, taking a hesitant step towards him. “You want help finding the classroom?”

Harry looks down at his crumpled piece of paper, shaking his head. “No. Thank you, Louis.”

He doesn’t say goodbye. He doesn’t think he can. He can hear Louis yell ‘bye’ to him, but he doesn’t wave at him. He turns on his heel and rushes away as fast as he can, his heart pounding and heavy in his chest.

By the time he makes it to his class, he finds a chair near the back of the room and slumps down heavily in it. The professor drones on and on about the syllabus up front, and though it’s probably the driest thing to listen to, Harry pays full attention, not letting his thoughts drift back to Louis until the very end of lecture, when he stands up and decides that he’s not going to be sad anymore. His mild crush on Louis will fall within a few days.

///

It’s been two days since he last thought that. His mild crush on Louis has not fallen. In fact, Harry’s pretty sure it has increased over the span of the past two days, and sitting on the ground with Niall, Liam, and Louis while playing The Game of Life is certainly not helping any.

“Oh, Liam, look! You adopted a pet! What are you going to name it?”

The thing is, Louis takes The Game of Life very seriously. He goes about it as if they’re actually living their lives and insists that everything has to have a name and every new house needs a specific place with a specific description.

It’s annoying and stupid, and Harry secretly loves it.

“Uh, Waldo,” Liam answers with an air in his voice that says ‘shut up.’ He takes a LIFE tile from the stack and places it next to his folded legs.

“What kind of pet is it?”

“I don’t fucking know, Louis,” he answers. “Can we just play the game without all the questions?”

Louis holds his hands up in mock surrender. “Fine.”

And they do. They play the game like any normal group of people would. Niall gets his first pay check, Liam has his first child, Louis graduates from college. Everything moves swimmingly and then—

“Eloped!” Louis exclaims. He brings his hands to his chest in exasperation. “Harry! How could you get eloped and not tell me!”

Harry shrugs his shoulders, a smile threatening to spill on his face. “You would be the first person to know,” he says, acting as if the real reason why Louis would know about the elopement would be because he’s the other person at the altar.

But then he remembers that he really shouldn’t be thinking of Louis that way. Not when he’s currently taken.

“So,” Louis says, dragging out the vowel and waggling his eyebrows. “Who’s the lucky man?”

Liam groans beside him. “Not this again.”

“Hush,” Louis says, slapping a hand over Liam’s mouth. “Harry’s getting married and I have the right to know who he’s being wed to.”

He looks at him expectantly, and Harry’s just about to say you. But then he sees the other man in Louis’ toy car and remembers that he’s already married. It’s in that moment that Harry realizes just how much he hates The Game of Life. Especially since he can’t find one, single space that says DIVORCE.

“Uh, Frank,” he says, his eyes falling to the other blue man that Niall places in his car. He doesn’t like him there. Not if the man in his car isn’t the same man that’s sitting in front of him.

“Frank?” Louis questions, leaning in as if Harry has a secret to spill. He presses his hands to Harry’s face, forcing eye contact, his eyes so blue. Life is unfair. “And who is this Frank person, Harold? How come I’ve never heard of this Frank person in your life? I would like to meet him before I give my friend away, you know.”

Friend. Out of everything that came out of Louis’ mouth, the only word that Harry hears is friend.

“There is no Frank,” he says patiently. He wants to spit it out angrily, but he knows better not to.

“Oh, Harry,” Louis says condescendingly, patting his knee gently. “One day there will be a Frank in your life.”

“Yeah,” he whispers to himself. “One day.”

He fully believes in that one day. Even if it means that it’s days or months or years from now. He knows it’ll come soon. And he also knows that it’s going to be with the boy who’s currently sitting across from him.

He glances up at Louis. He’s talking to Liam, but not a word registers in Harry’s mind. He’s lost in the way Louis just…sits there, his legs tucked into his chest, chin resting on his knees. He’s in his signature red sweatpants again and a different pair of mismatched socks that are pushed up to his calves. It’s like Harry’s been transported back into the past where he’s seeing Louis for the very first time again, before the mess that he’s in even happened. And he kind of likes this.  
He likes being able to admire Louis for who he is. He likes being able to look at him and openly stare at him and drown in tiny, little Louis things. He likes to watch him and absorb every, little detail about him, like the way his eyebrows tend to quirk on their own accord, to the way his eyes will form teeny, tiny slits when he’s laughing genuinely.

And to be honest, Harry doesn’t see a problem with it at all. As long as he doesn’t touch him, as long as he doesn’t cross any sort of boundary, then there’s no problem in admiring the way Louis acts and behaves from afar. If he doesn’t act on any of his inner fantasies, then there won’t be a problem with his everlasting crush on Louis.

Suddenly, he doesn’t feel so heartbroken anymore.

“Louis! There’s no way you can have that much money when you only make $40,000!” Liam exclaims, his fingers toying with Louis’ money in his hand.

Louis snatches it back. “What are you talking about?” he asks with a bit of accusation behind his words.

“You’re cheating. There’s no other explanation.”

“Excuse me? I do not cheat,” he says defiantly, crossing his arms over his chest.

And that’s a lie. It seemed as though any time Liam turned his back, Louis would grab as much fake money as he can while holding up his index finger to his lips when Harry starts to giggle. It’s very obvious that he’s cheating, especially since he’s only passed three pay days in the entire game and yet he has over $500,000.

Nevertheless, Harry intervenes. They’re a team, even if Louis doesn’t know it. “I’ve been watching him, Liam,” he says earnestly. “He hasn’t been cheating at all. I’m not lying.”

Which…half of the sentence is technically true. He has been watching Louis. Very intently, might he add.

Liam narrows his eyes, about ready to say something back, but his phone stops him when it starts vibrating beside him. He looks down, his frown turning up into a very excited smile.

“It’s Zayn!” he exclaims, jumping up to his feet. He kicks the game as he races out the door, the money flying everywhere, the cars and people losing their spaces on the game board. Harry only does a mild happy dance when he sees Louis’ blue husband fly out of his car and across the room. It’s really not that big of a deal.

“It’s about fucking time he called,” Niall mutters, grabbing a beer out of his fridge and handing one to Louis.

“I honestly thought he might’ve changed his number.”

“Wouldn’t be surprised if he had.”

“What’s the deal with them?” Harry asks, playing idly with the shag rug between his fingers.

They share a look with one another, groaning and falling heavily onto the futon. “It’s such a long story, mate,” Niall says, taking a swig of beer. “It’s so stupid, too.”

Harry waits impatiently, looking between the two boys and waving his hands around just trying to get them to tell the story.

“Right,” Louis says, “basically, they’ve been together since Zayn was in eighth grade, Liam in seventh, but we all knew they liked each other way before that.”

“Way before that,” Niall emphasizes. “Thought they were already properly together when I moved here back in sixth grade.”

“They were oblivious idiots,” Louis agrees, nodding his head. “It was painful to watch. You wouldn’t believe the amount of times Liam would come into my room and just go on and on about Zayn’s cheekbones, or Zayn’s face, or the funny thing that Zayn did that morning. I distinctly remember yelling at him multiple times to just ask him out already.”

Niall laughs beside him. “You were always threatening him to ask Zayn out. Remember that time you threatened him that if he doesn’t ask him out, then you’d show Zayn his letters and journal entries all dedicated to him?”

“It worked, didn’t it?” Louis says proudly, puffing out his chest. It’s not cute, Harry has to remind himself. He steals Niall’s beer out of his hand just for good measure. “Anyway,” Louis says, “they got together that year when Zayn was in eighth grade and Liam in seventh, and they’ve been together ever since, except it’s a bit complicated now. Don’t really know if they’re actually together or not at this point. Liam says they are, but…” Louis waves his hand in the air.

“What happened? Why’s it complicated?”

“Because Zayn had some kind of mid-life crises or something. He went to North River Valley State University last year.”

“And was supposed to attend this year, too,” Louis mutters into his beer. “Was supposed to be my roommate.”

“But a week after Liam announced he was attending the same college, Zayn decided that he wanted Liam to ‘find himself.’ Which, I don’t even know what that’s supposed to mean.”

“From what I understand,” Louis butts in, “he wanted Liam to gain his own college experience. They’ve been together since before they even hit puberty—five years now. They don’t have any other experience with another person, and Zayn, I suppose, wanted Liam to experience life without him by his side.” He pauses to take a few sips of his beer, his face grimacing as it slides down his throat. “But I’m pretty sure that the only reason why Zayn left was so that he could actually find his own self. He took off to California—California, Harry—the farthest state away from Massachusetts.”

Harry lets the information sink in. “So…they broke up?”

“Don’t know,” Louis says. “Liam doesn’t talk about it much. This is the first time that Zayn has ever called him first. Liam’s always trying to text him and Facetime him, but he’s always ‘too busy.’” Louis stops to mutter something undistinguishable into the bottle of his beer. “God, I don’t know how Liam’s doing it. He’s smiling every day, but I know that his heart is shattering.” 

“It’s tearing him apart. That’s for sure,” Niall adds. “Can hear him crying sometimes at night.”

Louis shakes his head angrily. “Fucking Zayn. If he ever comes back, he’s going to get an ear full.”

“You and me both,” Niall agrees.

There’s a beat of silence between the three boys. They can all hear Liam giggling in the hall, and it sounds so pure and so innocent. It makes Harry want to wrap his arms around him and make sure that he’s okay.

“Anyway,” Niall says, breaking the thick air with a clap of his hands. “It’s just you and me, Haz-o. We’re the single lads. You know what that means?”

“What?”

“We can go out to parties and get ourselves proper laid. How does that sound?”

It sounds great, actually. It sounds like something he needs in his life. But then his eyes drift to the boy with the red sweatpants and he realizes that he’s the only person that he wants to do that with.

“Sounds great!” he lies. “Could use a bit of party after this first week of school.”

Niall grins, and Harry pretends like it doesn’t hurt him at all when he thinks about going to a party just to forget about some stupid crush.

“How ‘bout you, Tommo? You down for a party this weekend or next?”

“Nah,” he says, shaking his head. “Jack wouldn’t like that.”

Niall makes an affronted noise in the back of his throat. “What, he controls what you can and can’t do now?”

Louis raises his eyebrows at him, straightening up on the futon a bit. “No,” he says calmly. “I just don’t want him thinking I’m not being loyal to him.”

“So you being unloyal to him is going to a party?” Niall clarifies. “Jesus Christ.”

“No,” Louis grits out. “I don’t want to go out partying and get drunk and wasted because you very well know how Jack feels about underage drinking.”

“Yes!” Niall yells exasperatedly. “Because he’s just as underage as the legal age of dating!”

Ouch.

It’s quiet once again in the room, the air tense and thick. Louis narrows his eyes, his voice dropping to a threatening voice that Harry has never heard before. It gives him goosebumps. “You don’t know anything, Horan.”

“Whatever,” Niall says, obviously wanting to say something else, but ultimately deciding against it. “I just wanted to know if you wanted to come out with me and Hazza. Forget it. You obviously don’t want to go.”

And it’s really not like Harry to get angry. But he is. Because why won’t Louis go to some party? How is it considered unfaithful to go to a party? Does he realize that it’s actually quite possible to go to a party without drinking? Any person can go and still have a great time without getting wasted. It’s possible.

And also, why does he keep bringing his boyfriend into the picture? That first day they met, Jack was never once spoken about. Not even when Louis droned on about his family. So why, out of all times, does Louis insist on bringing him up whenever he gets the chance? It’s ridiculous and Harry’s fed up with it.

He scoots to the opposite side of the room, putting distance in between him and Louis. It’s petty and immature. He doesn’t care. He’s upset and angry.

It also might be because he knows that if he continues to sit close to him, he’ll fall even harder for him. And he really can’t do that to himself or Louis. It’s not fair to anyone.

A few moments later, Liam comes back into the room, a lovesick puppy look on his face. He dreamily sets his phone on his desk, letting out a happy sigh and sinking onto the carpet beside Harry.

“You seem happy,” Niall says. He’s smiling and it’s really nice to see considering that not even a few seconds ago, he was about ready to blow a top.

“Yeah,” he sighs. “It’s been a very long time since we last talked. It feels so good to hear his voice again.”

Niall makes a barfing sound, pointing his finger down his throat. Harry kind of has to agree.

“I know what you mean,” Louis says, startling everyone. “It’s always nice to hear someone’s voice after not talking to them in awhile. I feel the same way about Jack.”

And that's when Harry decides to step out of the room and walk back to his.


	4. Chapter 4

It’s currently two in the morning. Two in the morning. Harry should be asleep right now. He should be dreaming and getting his full eight hours. But here he is, staring up at the ceiling, his hands in fists by his sides, wide awake. And it’s all Douchebag Demetrius’ fault.

“Are you sure you can talk, sweetie?”

“Of course, Mother. I am perfectly awake right now.”

And so is Harry. Isn’t that nice? Because talking on speaker is perfectly normal at two in the morning, isn’t it? No one sleeps at two in the morning anyway. It’s college! This is the time to pull all nighters and party on! Get with it, Harry!

Dear, God. He’s going delusional.

“Is your roommate keeping you awake right now? Is that why you’re up at this hour?”

Hah. That’s a good one.

“Actually, I am not sure whether he is up or not, Mother. He is currently lying in his bed, but I’m not exactly sure if he is asleep. I can hear him groaning every once in awhile and there has been quite the commotion and rustling within the sheets. Make of that what you will.”

And excuse him? Really? He’s seriously—genuinely—implying that he’s masturbating right now? To his own mother? He just did that.

He shoots up in bed and glares at Demetrius, feeling even more anger boil under his skin when the boy turns around and twiddles his fingers at him in some kind of half-assed wave.

“Oh, look at that,” he says into his phone. “He is awake, although it looks as though he’s on the brink of sleep. He doesn’t look particularly chipper either.

“Demetrius,” he strains, “I’m trying to sleep. Please, will you go out in the hallway to continue your conversation?”

“Oh! It appears that he is actually upset with me. Me, of all people, Mother. That certainly takes a lot of guts now. Does it not?”

“I would say so, dear. I can’t help but think that he’s not all that considerate if he’s doing some,” she stops to clear her throat, “naughty things to himself while you’re still in the room.”

Demetrius barks out a laugh and Harry groans, falling back into his pillows and stuffing his face into the blankets. Maybe if he wraps it tight enough around his head, it’ll suffocate him and all this nonsense will end. 

“I believe he’s trying to sleep now, Mother. He would probably like some peace and quiet.”

“I have yet to tell you the story about the Jamison family, though!”

“Oh, yes. Do go on,” Demetrius says, smiling wickedly at Harry who glares at him from across the room.

“Demetrius,” he hisses. “Please, it’s two in the morning.”

He shushes him, putting a finger up to his lips. “I am talking on the phone, Harold. Please, show some respect.”

Respect? He wants to talk about respect? What about the respect Harry is certainly not receiving right now? He’s trying to sleep for God’s sake! Any normal person would respect that and, oh Harry doesn’t know, maybe take their conversation outside, perhaps? Like any other normal and respectful person?

But apparently, he isn’t like any other normal person. In fact, Harry’s starting to wonder if he’s actually a human being at all because he certainly shows no empathy like a human being should. He’s gotta be some kind of unidentified alien that takes on the form of a human. That’s the only answer. He’s probably from the Planet Fucking-Inconsiderate-Dickhead-With-No-Fucking-Common-Sense Planet. 

It’s galaxies away.

“So what did the Jamison family do this time, Mother?”

And that’s it. That’s the final straw. Harry’s done. He shoves the blanket off his body, throws on a hoodie and some sweatpants over his boxers and only stops once so he can grab his key off his desk and glare at Demetrius before he makes a hasty escape to Niall and Liam’s room.

The door is unlocked by the time he gets over there, almost as if they expect Harry to be over at some point or another. He quietly opens the door, the room quiet and dark, only soft breathing filling the silent air. A small lump lies on the futon, covered completely in blankets. It doesn’t take rocket science to figure out who it is.

Louis.

And just like that, all of Harry’s anger vanishes and a sense of awe is replaced.

He watches him sleep for a few seconds. He wants to slide under the blankets with him, maybe sling Louis’ arm around his torso and cuddle back against his chest. He wants to press himself up close, smell the sweet scent that lingers on the older boy’s skin and maybe even press soft kisses to the inside of his wrist.

He can feel his heart pumping faster in his chest, the way it warms up every bit of his skin with just the thought of touching Louis and feeling his breath kiss the back of his neck. It makes his hair stand up on edge, and makes him want to lie down beside him.

But for now, he’ll wait. He’ll wait until the day comes when Louis gives Harry all of his attention for him and only him. Right now, he’s content with just being in the older boy’s presence, so long as it means he has just a sliver of his attention.

He lies down on the floor, pulling a spare sweatshirt off Niall’s desk chair and draping it over his shoulders.

It’s cold.

It’s cold and uncomfortable, and Harry wants to be in his own bed. The hard floor doesn’t support his body the way his lumpy mattress does.

“Hey,” a soft voice whispers. Harry startles, his head whipping around to see Louis sitting up on his elbows. He can’t even see the boy, yet the sound of his voice is giving Harry cold chills down his spine and happy butterflies in his stomach. “You can sleep up here, you know.”

And Harry really, really wants to. He would shave off all his curls and run naked down the street for the chance to sleep beside Louis. This is what he wanted from the moment he stepped foot into the room—to sleep right by the boy’s side and feel the warmth from his body press up against his.

But. He knows, way deep down in his stomach, that it’s not a good idea. Louis has a boyfriend and Harry has to keep his boundaries. He’s not going to be that guy who wrecks a relationship.

“It’s okay,” he forces himself to say, pulling the sweatshirt up higher onto his shoulders. The hood flips over and whacks him in the face. Louis laughs quietly. Harry can’t contain a small smile.

“Come on. I can’t let you sleep on the floor.”

Harry thinks about his response. He’s supposed to say no. He’s trying to say no. But then again, the floor isn’t comfortable and it’ll no doubt give him bad back pain the next morning. So really, that’s the only reason why he’s giving in so easily.

God, what is he doing?

“There ya go,” Louis says, lifting the blankets off his body to welcome Harry.

“It’s only because the ground is cold,” he says, only to remind himself.

“Whatever lets you sleep at night,” Louis says.

You.

That’s probably what he would’ve said had it been appropriate.

He slips under the blankets, keeping a large gap in between them. It’s slowly killing him. He’s so close to touching him, yet just out of reach. He shuffles even farther away, wanting not even his hair to touch the same pillow that Louis’ using. He’s nearly hanging off the edge of the futon now, and if he’s not careful, he could easily topple right off and back onto the floor again. But he can’t give into temptation, and if that means sleeping on the very edge of the futon and falling onto the ground, then so be it.

“Goodnight, Haz,” Louis whispers, gently nudging his shoulder with his before turning around to face the wall, his back to Harry.

Harry stills, feeling the nerves rack up in his stomach. He lies there perfectly still, his arms pressed down by his sides, his legs clasped together. It’s not until Louis lets out a soft yawn that Harry finally relaxes.

And that’s when he allows himself to smile. This is what it feels like to lie beside Louis. This is what it feels like to sleep with someone so incredibly special to him and hear their soft breathing throughout the entire night.

And yeah, he realizes that he should probably feel like an idiot right now. Especially because Louis has his back towards him and they’re so far apart from each other, it’s almost comical. But even still, he can’t help the little ecstatic thoughts he has about sleeping right beside Louis. He’ll get to see him in the morning, with his hair rumpled and his eyes saggy. He’ll get to be there right as his eyes flutter open and he stretches out his limbs after a long night. He’ll get to hear the soft yawns and his heavy breathing.

This is the best thing that has ever happened to Harry, and he should probably try and put out this fire in his chest, but there must be a match or something in his stomach that keeps lighting it up even after he attempts to put it out.

He’s not sure if he’s entirely mad about that.

He snuggles deeper into the blankets, letting his eyes roam shamelessly over the black silhouette of Louis’ body. His heart is beating erratically in his chest, and he wonders if Louis’ will someday match his. He would wait for that day patiently, even if it means that Louis goes through a thousand and two boyfriends before that time comes.

He takes one last and lingering look at Louis, matching his breathing to his and feeling his reeling head start to slow down, a sense of serenity overpowering his erratic pulse. “Goodnight, Lou,” he whispers, turning onto his side and inching over even more to leave a large space in between them.

///

He’s the first to wake up the next morning, and he’d be lying if he said that Louis isn’t the most adorable and precious person he’s ever seen asleep. His arms are tucked into his chest, his legs curled up and his cheek smushed against the pillow. He looks like a small child, not at all a boy who’s older than Harry.

He watches him for a few beats. The overwhelming desire of pressing kisses to his forehead and brushing his hair out of his eyes is all Harry can think about. He wants to touch Louis and hold Louis, and wake him up just to hear his morning voice. He wants to run his fingers down Louis’ chest and feel the warmth beneath his fingertips.

His hand hovers over his shoulder, his fingers just barely caressing the soft skin. It’s all he’ll allow. Just a ghost of a touch on his shoulder.

He pulls his hand back slowly, still feeling like there’s a burn on the pad of his finger where he touched Louis. He can still feel it even after a few more seconds pass and Louis’ nose starts to wrinkle and his eyes start to flutter behind the closed lids.

He could stare at him all day, not at all get tired of the way his shoulders move gently up and down with each breath or the way his eyelashes flutter against his check. He wants to save the memory and store it in his head to remember years from now.

But for now, he rolls off the futon and, ever so gently, fixes the blankets over Louis’ shoulder, making sure that his touch is light and doesn’t wake up the boy. He walks quietly out the door, taking one more look at the boy wrapped up in blankets and then tiptoes out of the room.

///

“Hey,” he says, trying his absolute best to hide his disappointment at seeing Demetrius in the room when he gets back from class later that afternoon. He grabs some celery out of the fridge, plopping down in his chair.

“Hi,” he replies, his voice clipped. “Bye,” he says not even a minute later, snatching his backpack off the ground and giving Harry an ugly glare as he leaves.

Harry doesn’t give it a second thought. Without Demetrius breathing down his throat, he can now strip down to his underwear and relax.

And so he does, sighing in content when he’s finally free from his clothes.

He sits back down in his chair and just as he’s about to sigh in content, there’s a knock on the door.

“Come in,” he sighs.

“Knock, knock,” Louis says gently, cracking the door open. He stands there with his backpack slung over his shoulders, his skinny jeans clad to his amazing and beautiful legs.

“Who’s there?”

“Just your loud and obnoxious friend, Louis.” He takes a step into the room, his hand fiddling with his hair. It looks soft, and Harry really wants to run his fingers through it.

“Hm, I’ve never heard that knock-knock joke before.”

“Hah,” he says humorlessly. “You’re funny. You know that?”

“Well, what can I say?” Harry asks, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly. “I was nominated to be Class Clown once in sixth grade.”

“Key word: nominated.” He reaches up to take the pillow from behind Harry’s head and uses it for his own, spreading out so that he’s comfortable on the floor.

“Hey,” he protests lightly, drawing out the syllable, “I was using that.”

“Doesn’t look like it,” he shrugs, smirking up at him. “If you want it back, then you’ll have to steal it back.”

He raises his eyebrows, an expression that screams ‘I dare you to try.’ It’s stupid that even that alone is making Harry’s entire body feel like it’s floating. Stupid, stupid, stupid. That’s all Harry is.

“Demetrius left,” he changes the subject quickly. He can’t think about wrestling over a pillow right now. Especially not when he’s half naked with only a thin blanket and his boxers covering up his happy little man down there. Fuck. “Don’t know what I did, but he left pretty fast. Is it bad that I feel happy that I made him leave?”

“Not really,” Louis hums, “but then again, I bet he’s quite happy to get away from you, too,” he says, stopping to smirk up at him.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

Louis giggles, propping himself up on his elbows to get a better look at Harry. “All I’m saying is that I’d be quite happy to get away from someone who willingly eats celery as a snack.”

“What’s wrong with celery?”

“Well, nothing,” Louis says, his face still trying to hold back his laughter. “But only weird people like celery...like you. It’s a well known fact.”

Harry gapes at him, feeling his heart beat faster in his chest once again because he loves it when Louis teases him. Which is dumb. “You just made that up.”

“True,” he says, shrugging his shoulders. “But the fact still remains that you’re weird.”

Harry huffs, crossing his arms over his chest and pointedly taking another bite of his celery, making sure to bite it extra loud.

“Hey,” Louis says, his voice softening. “It’s okay,” he says. “Not everyone can be as perfect as me. Sometimes you just gotta accept that you’re a little weird.”

And yep. He’s still teasing him. And yep, Harry still really hates the way that his stomach tumbles over the banter.

He snorts out his nose but otherwise doesn’t say anything. He has to physically force his eyes away from Louis. It’s probably one of the hardest things he has ever done in his life. Louis will always capture his eye. Forever and always, most likely. He should just give up at this point.

“Got nothing to add to that?” Louis taunts. He waits for Harry to reply, but Harry’s not giving in. He takes another bite of his celery, bringing his eyes to the phone in his hand and pretending to text someone. “Oh,” Louis says, finally catching on to the game Harry’s playing. “The Silent Treatment, huh? You know, my little sisters always do this to me.”

Harry raises an eyebrow at him in challenge and watches carefully as he sits up and crowds him in the chair, his face just a few inches away from his. He’s so close that Harry could count every individual eyelash and see the specks of yellow and green in his iris. So close, that if he extends his neck just a tiny bit, his lips would touch Louis’ and they’d be kissing, something he really wants to do right now.

He wets his lips, his eyes trained on the pink lips before him.

“You know what I always have to do to get them to talk to me again?” Louis whispers, the puffs of air hitting Harry’s face. He pauses and then leans in even closer to his ear. “I tickle them.”

And without even waiting, his fingers dig into Harry’s side, ignoring the way he squeals and squirms in the chair, trying to push Louis’ fingers away. The blanket falls down his chest, exposing his naked skin and Louis stops to raise his eyebrows before his fingers dance underneath his arms and dig into his armpit. Harry screams, laughing obnoxiously loud and embarrassing.

“Wanna give in?” Louis asks innocently. “All you have to do is say ‘mercy.’”

Harry shakes his head. His face is red and he knows that he looks idiotic with the way he’s biting down on his lip—hard, he must add—and how he keeps having an embarrassing sound escape his lips. But he’s not giving in.

Besides, this may be the only time that Louis’ hands will ever be touching him. And as sad and pathetic as that thought is, he’s overly ecstatic about it. Maybe a little too much.

“Guess this means I have to go into overdrive,” Louis says casually before he promptly digs his fingers into Harry’s ribs, his fingers dancing over every bit of his body, eliciting loud squeals and giggles.

And it’s all too much. “Mercy!” Harry cries, straining his neck and trying to move away from Louis’ fingers. “Stop! Stop! Mercy!”

Louis fortunately—or unfortunately, Harry thinks—removes his hands and sits back down on the floor. He stares at him, breathing heavily, and wondering why he’s suddenly sitting so far away. Now that he knows what it feels like to have Louis touching him, he feels somewhat empty when his fingers are no longer on his skin.

“My sister once tickled me for so long that I pissed myself from laughing too hard,” Harry blurts out.

And wait—what?

Louis bursts out into laughter, his head thrown back, the column of his neck looking absolutely beautiful and tempting.

“And when did this happen?” he asks in between labored breath.

Harry seals his lips, turning his head away. He plays idly with the edge of his blanket and shifts uneasily in the chair.

“The Silent Treatment again?” Louis asks, leaning in close to Harry once more. “Do we really need to go through this again just for you to talk?”

“No, no, no!” Harry says fast, trapping Louis’ hands in his own. “Please, don’t tickle me,” he adds very seriously.

“Then tell me,” Louis whispers.

And fuck—his whispering really is not helping any. Neither is the hand holding. Or the tickling. Or the thin blanket that’s barely concealing his little problem down south. He gulps, looking around the room. “Uh, I don’t know,” he lies.

“You’re a shit liar.”

“You know who’s a shit liar? My best friend back home. He lies so horribly that it makes me want to—”

“I’m gonna tickle you again if you don’t answer the question.”

Harry groans, burying his head in his hands. This is horrible. Life is horrible. Louis Tomlinson is horrible. “Last year,” he mumbles.

“Sorry, what was that?” Louis asks, pulling his hands away from his face. He’s got a shit eating grin, like he already heard the answer but he wants him to repeat it. 

“Care to repeat that for me. A bit louder, perhaps?”

“It was last year,” Harry mutters.

“I’m sorry when?”

And now he knows that he’s just messing with him. He huffs and crosses his arms. “I’m not saying it again.”

“Say what again?”

“Louis,” he warns.

“Oh, right! When you pissed yourself last year because your sister tickled you.” He bursts out laughing. It’s not funny. It’s really not. But Louis is laughing uncontrollably and his face is turning red and so what if Louis’ giggling is making Harry feel giddy?

“Shut up.”

“Aw, I’m sorry,” he says, calming down, his hands splayed across Harry’s knees. “Will you forgive me for laughing at you?”

“No.”

“Pretty please?” he asks, his eyelashes fluttering.

“No,” he says confidently, though he can feel the way his smile is starting to spread on his lips. Damn it. “I will never forgive you for laughing at me, Louis Tomlinson.”

Louis only pouts in response.

“Don’t give me that look,” Harry says, and he means what he says, too. If the boy continues to look at him like that, Harry may lose the little self control that he has.

“I’ll stop as soon as you forgive me.”

“Not happening.”

“Come on,” he begs.

“Nope.”

“Please?”

“No.”

Louis whines, heaving himself up off the ground and placing himself right in front of Harry’s face, leaving no other room for Harry’s eyes to wander. He’s forced to look at him, and it’s the cruelest thing he has ever had to endure because Louis is pouting, his bottom lip stuck out and he has the prettiest and most beautiful, big, blue eyes.

“Please, Harry?” he whimpers.

“Fine! Fine!” he yells. “I forgive you! Now stop pouting!” Louis grins and falls heavily back to the floor, pumping his fist in the air. “You’re an actual five year old, you know that?” he asks, shaking his head and biting down on his lip just so it’ll stop himself from smiling.

“Nothing wrong with that,” Louis shrugs.

“If I had to place bets on who would be the first to be arrested out of our little group of friends, I’d definitely say it’d be you.”

Louis raises his eyebrows, a clear indication to say ‘go on.’

“You’d easily be the person that does something stupid and illegal and then when the cops show up, you’d blame it on something ridiculous that doesn’t even make sense.”

Louis shrugs again, not even denying the statement. “Wouldn’t surprise me,” he says, a small smile toying on his lips. “But, you’d be the one to bail me out.”

“No, I wouldn’t,” he lies.

“Yeah you would,” Louis challenges him. “You’re my best friend.”

Best friends. Right. He forgot that again.

“You have plenty of best friends,” he reminds him.

“Yeah, but Liam and Niall would probably tell me to suck it up. You’d be the only one that would come save me.”

It’s true. He’d probably be there to bail him out within one minute of his call. Maybe even before his call. He’d do anything just to save the boy, and it makes him feel even happier knowing that Louis relies on him and trusts him with his life. Kind of like a boyfriend.

And isn’t that funny.

“What about your boyfriend, Jack?” he mutters. He regrets saying that as soon as it leaves his lips.

It’s quiet for a few beats and when Harry takes a glance at Louis, he can see that the other boy is surprised at his question.

“Well, he’d definitely save me,” he starts, tapping his chin in a thoughtful gesture, “but, I wouldn’t want his parents finding out that I was in jail. They probably wouldn’t like that too much. Wouldn’t make me look too good for their son, you know?”

“I suppose not,” he murmurs.

He bites his lip and focuses his attention on his hands. They’re gripping the edge of his blanket, his knuckles white from clutching it so hard.

“Well, let’s just hope that whatever I do in the near future, won’t end with me going to jail. Don’t think I’d look too nice in an orange jumpsuit.”

“Might make your butt look bigger,” Harry grins.

“Yeah? You think?” He turns to look at his own bum, cupping his cheeks with his hands and Harry’s practically drooling. “Maybe I should start wearing orange more often. Draw more attention to my ass.”

And it already has all of Harry’s attention. Not that he’d be willing to admit that to Louis, of course. No. That’s definitely crossing the fine bro-line that he’s walking. Definitely a huge, red ‘no’ in the ‘How To Be Bros’ Handbook.

He’s twirling and bending in half in front of the mirror now, just trying to look at his own ass. It’s absolute torture. He’s basically doing pornographic things right in front of Harry and it should most definitely be illegal.

Harry’s drooling over his ass so much that he doesn’t even realize that Demetrius had walked back into the room until he starts speaking.

“I see Louis Tomlinson is making good use of my mirror,” he says coolly, turning his body towards the boy looking at himself. “I have always presumed you were quite vain, and now that my own eyes have seen it, I now know for fact that it is true and I am, indeed, correct.”

Louis lets out one humorless laugh and turns around to face Demetrius, his eyebrows pulling down in the center. “The only vain person here is you.”

“Do explain, good sir.”

“Are you serious?” Louis asks disbelief clear in his voice. “You don’t think you’re vain at all?”

“I believe that within each person, there is a bit of self scrutiny and an underlying need to better oneself. Do you not agree?”

“No, I agree,” Louis say slowly, taking a step closer to Demetrius. “But I think you cross that line.”

“And, if you recall, which, I am sure you have already forgotten at this point,” he says with a wave of a hand, “that is precisely where I had asked you to further explain yourself but a minute ago.”

Louis snarls under his breath, his eyes rolling dramatically. “I think you are the vainest and most inconsiderate person I have ever met in my life.”

“Ah, Louis Tomlinson, you must learn how to further explain yourself,” he says, a condescending pat to his back. “I have asked of you to explain why you think that. You have mentioned that I am vain, multiple times if I do say so myself, but you have yet to explain why. Reiterating yourself mustn’t get you very far in disputes, I would imagine.” 

The tension in the room is rising and even Harry can start to feel his own blood begin to boil with anger. He tosses the blanket off his body, pulls on some clothes and takes a stand beside Louis.

“There are tons of reasons as to why I think you are the most inconsiderate person I’ve ever met,” Louis says darkly, his voice very close to a whisper. “The first being that you talk to everyone as if they’re a two year old and you’re far superior.” Demetrius makes a move to talk but Louis cuts him off with a finger held up to his lips. “No. I’m talking right now. You need to wait your turn.”

Demetrius’ eyebrows shoot up to his hairline and then fall down quickly into a frown, and Harry has to turn around and stifle his grin into his elbow.

“Now then, as I was saying, good sir,” Louis mimics him, “I don’t know if you’re aware of this but Harry had to sleep in Niall and Liam’s room last night because of you. He hasn’t exactly told me what you’ve done, but I’m sure if he’s willing to sacrifice his own bed for a hard and lumpy futon to get away from you, then it must’ve been pretty fucking inconsiderate.”

He starts to back away from him, taking Harry’s wrist in his and dragging him out the door.

“Now, if you’ll excuse us, Harry and I are going to leave. Feel free to educate yourself about the rules of respect while we’re gone. Surely, there’s a book on it somewhere.”

And with that, they’re both out the door and Harry is being dragged to Niall and Liam’s room while he laughs hysterically.

“Louis!” he exclaims, “I can’t believe you just said all of that.”

“He had it coming,” is all he says, a faint smile on his lips. And even though he says it like it’s no big deal, Harry knows that internally, he’s freaking out and probably jumping for joy.

He turns the knob to Niall and Liam’s room, and when it doesn’t open, they stand there a little lost.

“They never lock their door,” Louis says, knocking on it patiently and pressing his ear up against the door.

“They’re obviously not here then.”

“Hey, you know what we should do?” he asks, a mischievous glint in his eye.

And Harry has seen that glint many times before. It always appears before he does something horrifically stupid. It’s bad news.

“No, no, no,” he says, shaking his head. “We’re not doing whatever it is that you think is a good idea.”

“You didn’t even hear what I was gonna say.”

“Don’t need to. Already know that it’s going to turn out bad.”

Louis doesn’t listen, which is so typical of him that Harry should be used to it, and yet he still finds himself giggling when the older boy tells him his plan anyway. “We should get my lock pick set, open their door, and then prank them.”

“Prank them.”

“Yeah, like reverse everything around. Saran wrap their things. Drink all their beer.”

Harry doesn’t even grace him with a word. He tugs on his wrist, ignoring the little fluttering feeling in his chest when he feels his dainty little wrist in his own hand, and pulls him outside.

“It was a good idea,” Louis huffs, pulling his hand away from Harry’s and stuffing it into his pocket. His bottom lip is sticking out, puffy and pink, just teasing Harry.

“Mhm, I’m sure it was,” he says, patting his back once and then letting it fall to his side. His heart hammers in his chest and he needs to get away from all of these feelings. It’s too overwhelming.

“So, what’s with Demetrius and his family?” he asks, taking his mind off something other than Louis. “He talked to his mom at 2 in the morning. Why is she even up at that time?”

“Ah, that’s what made you come to Niall and Liam’s room,” he states, nodding his head. “Dick,” he mutters even quieter, as if he expected Harry not to hear it. But he did. And he finds it amusing and also a little adorable.

“It’s funny, actually, he lived just around the corner from me for about eight years, and I think I’ve only seen his dad maybe once. He’s some kind of big businessman. I don’t really know. But, he’s never around that often, always traveling and whatnot. His mom, on the other hand, was always out gardening. She was like the typical mean woman that every neighborhood has. The kind that yells at you when you step on her grass, or the one that glares at you when you walk on her sidewalk.”

“The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

“No kidding,” Louis agrees. “Anyway, since Demetrius is an only child, I guess the house is really quiet now and my mom says that Matilda—that’s Demetrius’ mom—is hardly ever home now. I guess she travels all the time with her husband. So, she’s probably in another country, for all I know.”

“That would make sense as to why he’s up at 2 in the morning. Time differences and all that.”

Louis hums in agreement, the conversation falling and only the sound of their shoes scuffing against the pavement and the birds chirping in the distance can be heard. It’s a comfortable silence, though. And Harry thinks that’s why he likes Louis so much because their conversations are never forced. They’re easy, and if a silence falls upon them, it’s not that big of a deal.

He peers at Louis from the corner of his eye. He’s kicking a stone with his feet as they walk, his hair falling into his eyes. Each time he blinks, the hair gets caught in his eyelashes, and Harry would give anything just to run his fingers through it and tuck it back behind his ear.

“So where are we going?” he asks, shaking himself out of his thoughts. Bros. Friends. Pals. That’s what they are.

“You see that house up ahead?” he asks, pointing to the corner where a white colonial house sits.

“Yeah?”

“Rumor has it that a ghost haunts that house.”

“No way.”

Louis confirms as they walk closer to it. “My parents went to this school when they were our age, and back then, the house was rented out to college students. My dad, along with his friends, rented it out one year, and before they bought it, the realtor warned them that past residents have shared stories of ghosts. So naturally, because they were like twenty-something year olds, they didn’t believe her, and they bought it anyway.”

They stop outside of the fence surrounding the house. It’s eerie standing outside of it, the grass turned yellow, the air completely still. There’s a cold chill running down Harry’s spine, and it doesn’t feel natural considering it’s blistering hot outside and he’s sweating through his clothes.

“The first day they moved in, they kept making fun of the realtor. They thought it was hilarious that people actually believed in that kind of stuff. But just as they were about to go to bed that night, they heard something crying from upstairs in the attic, like a newborn baby. Then there were loud footsteps, and then some rocking, like a rocking chair or something of that sort, and then, after a few minutes, both the rocking and the crying stopped. Then, the next night came, and they all heard it again, and the night after that and the night after that.

“So, about a week later, they all wanted to investigate. They gathered up their sleeping bags and went up to the attic to camp out. It was crowded with a bunch of junk, including a rocking chair in the corner and a crib near the window. When night came, they heard the baby cry, and then the footsteps, and then the rocking chair in the corner began to move without anyone touching it. Needless to say, they ran out of the house and never stepped foot in it again.”

Harry shivers, his nose crinkling. “That’s really creepy,” he says, his eyes roaming the outside of the house as if it would give him the answers. His eyes fall on the top story window, the shadows making it look black and dark inside the house. He takes a step closer to Louis, met with only an empty space where he used to stand.  
“Where are you going?” he asks, his eyes widening when he sees Louis scaling the fence.

“We’re gonna go explore!”

“What do you mean ‘explore?’” Harry asks, taking a step back, his eyes latching onto the house before him.

“We’re gonna go in!”

He reaches the top of the fence, waving Harry forward trying to get him to follow him, but Harry stays still, shaking his head back and forth, taking more steps away from the fence.

“Hey, remember how we discussed earlier how I said that you’d the be the one to go to jail?”

“Yes?”

“Yeah, I think today is gonna be that day.” Louis laughs, landing on the other side of the fence with a loud thud. “Louis, you’re trespassing!” He continues walking, ignoring him. “I’m no lawyer or anything, but I’m pretty sure that a fence with a sign on the door that says ‘keep out’ means to stay away!” He still doesn’t turn back around. “You’re gonna get in lots of trouble if someone catches you!”

“Then stop yelling at me and no one will notice,” he says over his shoulder, walking up to the front door.

Harry’s heart is hammering in his chest. Not only because Louis’ breaking the law, but the whole baby in the attic story is making him feel uneasy. Not that he’s going to admit that or anything. Because he’s not. And if Louis asks, he’ll deny. Because he’s strong. And he’s brave. And he’s not scared of some dumb ghost story.

“Louis,” he cries when he sees him trying to turn the knob.

“I’m going in with or without you, Harry! Better make up your mind.”

He hesitates, looking frantically between the fence, Louis, and the attic window at the top of the house. His heart is beating erratically in his chest and he makes a split second decision—he’s on the other side of the fence within seconds.

“Wait!” he cries, scrambling over to Louis near the front door. He’s leaned up against the white wall by the time he makes it there, a smug look on his face, almost as if he was expecting him to show up. Screw him.

“The door is locked,” he says, catching Harry up to speed. “We seem to have a lot of trouble with doors.”

“Oh, darn,” Harry says quickly, already pushing Louis away from the front porch. “I guess we’ll have to leave then, won’t we?”

“Scared, are you?”

“No.”

“You’re totally scared.”

“Am not.”

“It’s okay, I would be too, but—wait. What was that?” he asks, his eyes shooting towards the front door.

Harry’s eyes widen in response, his feet backing up unconsciously as his hand instinctively clutches at Louis’ forearm. “What was what?”

“Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

Louis cranes his neck to the top window and Harry follows his gaze, his fingernails digging into Louis’ skin, probably leaving marks. “Thought I heard something, but I guess I didn’t.”

Harry lets out a shaky breath, tugging on Louis’ arm once more. “Let’s go,” he says, trying to pull him away from the house. “Like you said, you wouldn’t look good in an orange jumpsuit, so let’s not let that happen. Right? Right.”

He tugs on Louis’ arm but he doesn’t budge. He’s craning his neck up to the top window again, his eyes widening. “I just heard it again.”

“Louis, stop. Please. Let’s just go.”

“No, no. Harry. Really. I heard something. Did you hear it?”

He listens to his surroundings, hearing only the drumming of his heart in his ears. “Nope,” he says, starting to walk back towards the fence. “Didn’t hear anything.”  
Louis once again grabs his arm and holds him in place. “Wait,” he whispers. “Look at the third story window.”

And Harry really shouldn’t listen to Louis. He knows that it’s going to be some kind of bloody baby in the window with a ghost mother holding it. He knows that it’s going to be something scary and something paranormal, but he can’t help himself. He crowds himself into Louis’ space, ever so slowly peeling his eyes to look up at the window.

“Boo.”

And before he can even stop himself from doing something embarrassing, he’s screaming his head off, throwing Louis over his shoulder, and takes off running towards the fence, only stopping to put Louis on his feet and jump over the fence. Then he’s back to screaming and running, sprinting as fast as he possibly can to the other side of the street and falling heavily onto the grass.

His heart is beating erratically in his chest, his pulse racing. There’s still an uneasy feeling in his stomach, and now he’s not sure if it’s because of the lingering thoughts on the ghost or if it’s because he’s so incredibly embarrassed at how he just ran away and screamed like a baby when there was literally nothing in the window.

Nothing.

The only reason why he screamed his bloody head off was because of Louis—Louis-fucking-Tomlinson who whispered ‘boo’ in his ear and brushed the back of his neck with his finger. That’s the fucking reason why he nearly shit himself. All because of Louis-fucking-Tomlinson.

He’s laughing hysterically beside him and Harry can only let out an embarrassing whimper. He’s an idiot. A scared, pathetic, little idiot and Louis is never going to let him live this down. He’s going to be reminded of this day for the rest of his life.

“Little scared, Styles?” Louis says in between his laughter. Harry whines and rolls onto his stomach, burying his face into the grass. Now would be a good time for the ground to open up and swallow him whole.

“Aw, is wittle Hawwy embarrassed?”

“Shut up,” he whines.

“You wanna know the funniest part of that whole thing?”

“No.”

“The part where I completely made up a ghost story and you believed me.”

Harry lets his words sink in, and he balls his fists up at his side. “I hate you.”

“You love me.”

And yes, yes he does.

“The clouds are really puffy today,” Louis comments, completely changing the subject. “Don’t you wanna look at them with me?”

“Not really.”

“Please?”

“’M too embarrassed to show my face right now.”

“Oh, come on. Don’t be like that,” Louis says, rolling Harry easily onto his back despite his protests. He glares up at Louis with what he knows must resemble that of a disgruntled kitten. “It was cute.”

“Wasn’t cute,” he says, tucking his chin into his chest.

Louis scoots further to his side, not quite touching him, but if Harry were to move his arm a few inches, then they would bump elbows.

“Whatever you say,” Louis says, a small smirk on his face.

Fuck him.

They lie there in the grass in complete silence, just looking up at the clouds that float up above. It's serene--the silence between them. He can hear Louis' soft breathing, can feel the warmth emitting from his body. Once again, Harry thinks that this relationship they have going on—whatever it may be— is one that is very special.

"You see that cloud right there?" Louis asks, pointing up at the sky. Harry turns his head to look at him, can't stop himself from smiling at the fact that they're actually lying on the grass right now, looking up at the clouds. Something that is so simple, yet so, so special.

"Yeah," he replies, following Louis' pointing finger.

"That is definitely shaped like a dick."

And just like that, the moment is ruined.

 

///

The next three weeks fly past in a flurry of never ending studying, torturous days with Demetrius, and many nights of sleeping on the very edge of the futon so that Harry doesn’t accidentally touch Louis in his sleep.

It’s painful, to say the least.

“Lookin’ good, Styles,” Niall whistles from his desk.

Harry beams. They’re going to their very first party of the year, so he’s dressed to impress. He’s wearing the skinniest black jeans that he owns, the ones that make his legs look endlessly long and muscular, and a red flannel. He kind of thinks he looks like a fuck boy, but Niall has reassured him that he looks great.

“Thanks, Niall.”

“You’re definitely gonna catch some cute guy’s eye tonight, Hazza,” Niall says behind him, clapping him on the back.

It’s not the right one though.

He looks longingly over at Louis, feeling his eyebrows furrow when he giggles and hides his smile behind his hands. He’s talking to Jack over FaceTime, and it’s secretly making Harry mad that the boy in a ratty old t-shirt has all of Louis’ attention instead of him.

“What?” Niall questions and Harry freezes, his eyes springing back to Niall’s. “You like Louis?” he asks, his voice dropping down to a whisper.

“Uh, what are you talking about?” he tries to ask casually, turning his attention back to the mirror so that he can watch himself run his fingers through his hair.

“You just said that you wish you’d catch Louis’ eye.”

“No, I didn’t,” he says with a shake of his head and—shit, did he really just admit that? Had he accidentally spoken his thoughts out loud that whole time? He bites his lip and meets Niall’s eyes in the mirror, seeing how he’s smirking.

“No need to be ashamed, mate,” he says. "He's a right lad."

“No, no, no,” Harry backtracks desperately. “I don’t—I mean. I don’t—he has—shit, Niall,” he mumbles, pulling him out of the room so Louis doesn’t grow suspicious with the way they’re whispering. “He has a boyfriend. I can’t like him.”

Niall’s smirk falls off his face, replaced with something more serious and more sympathetic. “You can’t just turn off your affection for someone, mate,” he says, his voice soft and eyes warm. “If you like him then you like him.”

“Yeah, that’s the problem.”

Niall pats his back once, letting his hand fall down Harry’s arm. “Louis’ just in that blind stage of love right now. Jack is his first ever boyfriend, so you know how that is.” Harry shrugs his shoulders. He really doesn’t know how that is, seeing that he’s never had one. “And if it makes you feel any better, I really fucking hate Jack, and so does Liam, though he’ll never admit it.”

And yes. That does actually make him feel better, as stupid as that sounds.

“Thanks, Niall.”

The blond smiles, draping his arm over his shoulder and pulling him back towards the doorway of their dorm room. “We’re leaving for the greatest party of all time without you losers!”

They both throw a wave at Louis and Liam over their shoulder, and Harry tries not to dwell on the fact that Louis told him to ‘be safe and drink lots of water.’  
It’s a standard kind of thing to say, but it still makes him feel giddy knowing that Louis is still worrying about him.

///

“Niall!” Harry calls, stumbling over as he races to the kitchen, his drink sloshing over the brim of his cup and sliding down his hand. He stops walking, bracing himself up against the wall next to him when the room starts to spin again, and licks at the alcohol on his hand. He can see his tongue. It’s big and pink and when he brings it back into his mouth, it doesn’t feel right.

He’s got a numb tongue.

“Niall!” he screams again. “I’ve got a numb tongue!” he giggles, yelling down into his drink and laughing even louder when he sees his reflection in the alcohol. He sticks his tongue out, watching as the ripples on the surface make it look deformed and weird.

He’s got a weird, deformed, numb tongue.

“Niall!” he shouts, making his way over to the blond boy on the other side of the room. He puts all his weight on the wall. The room is spinning. Too fast. He thinks maybe he should sit down. That would probably be a good idea, maybe.

“Hazza, how’s the party goin’, mate?” Niall asks, slapping him hard across the back. More of his drink sloshes out the top and he stumbles forward, not completely balanced on his feet. The floor feels like it’s tipping over. It feels like he’s in a fun house.

He licks at his spilled drink on his hand, pulling back to laugh when he still can’t feel his tongue.

“I’ve got a numb tongue, Nialler! Look!” he says, sticking his tongue out and pinching it in between his fingers. “I can’t even feel it!”

“Can you feel it when I touch it?” Niall asks, his fingers holding Harry’s tongue in a similar fashion.

“No! Do you feel it?”

“No!” he says, his eyes widening. “Hazza, I think something’s wrong with your tongue.”

“Maybe it’s like some kind of superpower, Niall!” he gasps, a new thought springing into his mind. “Niall! I’m gonna turn into a superhero! This is my super power! This is—” he stumbles forward, someone bumping into him from behind. He turns around, the room spinning way too fast. He can’t quite focus entirely on the person in front of him, but he can see that their eyes are very blue. Royal blue, maybe. Very deep. Like the ocean. Maybe deeper. Harry isn’t quite sure. “Your eyes are very deep.”

Said boy smiles, holding Harry up by his shoulders. “Thanks,” he says genuinely. He takes Harry’s cup out of his hand and replaces it with a bottle of water. “I think you might want to drink some of this, man.”

Water. Right. Someone told him he needs to drink lots of water tonight. Who was it that said that? Liam? Niall? Louis?

Louis. That’s right.

“Louis said I had to drink lots of water tonight,” he screams. The boy with the blue eyes nods his head, flinching a little at Harry’s loud voice. “Louis has very blue eyes, too. I like his eyes.”

“That’s great, man. Make sure you drink that water, okay?” he says, backing away from Harry and brushing past him.

“Okay! Thank you for the water, Deep Eyes!”

He turns around to face Niall again, the room still spinning. He feels like he might be on a roller coaster. He’s always hated roller coasters.

“Niall, remember how Louis told us to drink lots of water?” he asks, showing Niall the water bottle in his hand.

“I haven’t drunk any tonight.”

“Me neither. But Louis said we have to, and he’s like the smartest person I know so I think we should listen to him.”

“You only think he’s smart because you have a big crush on him.”

Harry nods his head enthusiastically. He does. He really, really does. And he doesn’t care who knows it at this point. Louis isn’t here, so he can say whatever he wants.

“I think he’s the prettiest boy I have ever seen,” he exclaims, resting his hand on Niall’s shoulder to emphasize his point. “He’s funny, too. I like him a lot.”

“You should kiss him!”

“You think? I really, really want to. Why haven’t I kissed him yet, Niall?”

“Don’t know, mate,” he says, giving him a bro hug and turning around to go talk to a black haired girl in the kitchen. Harry watches him leave, feeling an overwhelming urge to kiss Louis suddenly. Well maybe not suddenly. He always wants to kiss Louis. Even in his sleep he wants to kiss Louis. But right now it’s even stronger.

He looks around the room. He just needs to kiss someone. Even if it’s not Louis. He can pretend. He’s good at pretending. His eyes settle on Deep Eyes across the room. He has blue eyes. So it’s almost like Louis, he figures.

He walks confidently over to the boy, taking long strides and pushing away the dizziness. It’s not exactly working, but he thinks he may be a good enough actor to pull it off.

“Hi,” he says, tapping the boy on the shoulder.

He turns around, smiling and helping Harry onto the couch. “You alright there?”

“Perfect,” he says, leaning in closer to the boy’s face. He can smell his breath. It smells like mint. Not like Louis’, but that’s okay. “What’s your name?”

“Nate.”

It doesn’t sound like Louis. Not at all. But he pretends like it is.

“I’m Harry and I’m very drunk right now,” he admits, hiccupping. He giggles to himself, feeling lightheaded and free. It feels good. He likes this feeling. It makes him feel brave and confident. If only Louis were here right now. Maybe he’d have the guts to tell him how he really feels. That would be good, he thinks.

“I can see that,” Nate says, resting his hands on Harry’s shoulders.

His hands are very big. They span across his entire shoulder and down onto his back. Unlike Louis’ hands. And his lips are thin and pink, looking nothing at all like Louis’. But maybe if he closes his eyes then he won’t even notice.

“Hey,” Nate says softly, putting his hand on Harry’s chest to stop him from leaning in even closer. Harry opens his eyes, startled to see how close his face is to Nate’s. When did he lean in so far? “You seem like a solid dude, alright? But I don’t think this is a good idea.”

Harry watches his lips move. They don’t form words the same way Louis’ does. He wishes they would. Maybe then he could get over Louis and move on.

“Why not?”

“Well,” he says, bringing the water bottle up to Harry’s lips. “I don’t think my girlfriend would like it if she found out that I was kissing someone else.”

Nate talks very fast. A little too fast. It takes Harry a few seconds to grasp what he’s saying and he deflates when he finally understands. He’s taken. Just like Louis.

It’s the one thing they actually have in common. “Oh,” he replies, pushing his lips out. “Louis is taken, too.”

Maybe that’s the reason why he hasn’t kissed him yet. He can’t think straight right now.

“You’ve mentioned him before,” Nate says calmly, leaning back in the couch and draping his leg over the other. Harry tries to copy him, but his legs seem much too long to maneuver right now so he opts for sitting criss-crossed applesauce style. He giggles to himself at the name.

“I like talking about him. He’s my best friend, I think.”

“He seems very important to you.”

“He is,” he says proudly. “I would marry him if he wasn’t taken. I think we’d make some good babies. Do you think so?”

“I think so.”

Harry giggles. “Do you know how to make babies, Nate?”

“Yes, Harry. I know how babies are made.”

Harry leans forward anyway, brushing his lips up against his ear and cupping his jaw in his hands. “Sex,” he whispers and pulls away laughing.

Sex with Louis would be a great time, probably. He wants to do that. And maybe he can do the sex right now! He just needs a token for his gratitude, or something. He can’t remember how that line goes. Or what it means. Or anything. But he needs to give Louis something. Yes. That’s what he needs to do.

He shoots up from the couch, tugging at Nate’s hand and trying to get him to stand up with him. “Come on,” he whines, “we need to go to McDonald’s,” he says, pulling him up to his feet.

“What are you going on about?” Nate asks, going along with his antics.

“I need to buy a token for Louis’ gratitude.”

Nate sighs and pulls Harry back to the couch, shoving the water bottle back in his face. “We’ll go as soon as you drink some more water.”

“Deal.”

///

A half an hour later, Harry’s head is still spinning, but he insists that it’s gotten better since they left the party and that he’s completely sober and doing just fine.

“I think I’m gonna get Louis some French fries as my gratitude for his gift token.”

He smiles giddily up at Nate. He’s very tall. Too tall. Harry likes how short Louis is. It would be easy to wrap him up in his arms.

“Whatever you want, Harry,” he says laughing and taking a seat on the windowsill. He gestures to the cash register in front of him. “Go order your fries. It’s your turn.”

Oh yeah. Fries. That’s why he’s here. For Louis. His gift. Token. Gratitude. Why is doing this again?

“Can I please have some fries for Louis?”

The woman behind the register is frowning. Harry doesn’t know why she’s frowning. She works at McDonald’s and it’s currently 1 in the morning and it’s like a party because there are so many people here. She should be happy and excited.

“What size do you want?”

“Well Louis is quite small but I think he might like the large the best. Do you think so? I don’t think he likes it when I call him small. But he is small and I like him just the way he is. So maybe I should go with small. Or large. I’ll get him a large. Because then—”

“Your total is $2.00.”

He digs in his pocket for his wallet, handing her the amount after she helps him with it. She’s nice. Even though she does frown a lot.

He gets his fries shortly after, and eats only one. Or maybe two. He doesn’t know anymore. But that’s only because they taste so good. The rest are for Louis.

“Drink some more water, Harry,” Nate says, guiding him through the mass of people in McDonald’s. “Let’s get you home now.”

“Do you think Louis will like the fries?” he asks, stuffing another into his mouth.

“He won’t like them if you eat all of them.”

He’s right. Of course he’s right. Nate seems like a smart guy. But that doesn’t stop him from shoving three more fries into his mouth all at the same time. “No more,” he says to himself, pointing down at his stomach. “Do you hear me, tummy? I said no more.”

“Alright, big guy. We’re here.”

He looks up, seeing Rylie Hall written across the top of the building. They got here very fast. Super fast. Did they teleport?

“Wow. Thank you, Nate. I think you deserve some French fries as my gratitude for your token, too. Here,” he says, shoving a handful of fries into Nate’s hands and then saluting him as he walks up the stairs to his room.

His door is locked when he gets there. He has his key somewhere. But he can’t remember where. Where did he put it?

He digs in his pocket once again, his bag of fries dropping to the floor and spilling out. He gasps, quickly pushing them back inside the container and into his mouth while simultaneously looking around, making sure that nobody saw that he just broke the five second rule.

“Harry?”

He picks his head up.

“Louis!” he exclaims, shooting up to his feet.

The room has stopped spinning now, but now he feels like his stomach is doing somersaults. He walks over to Niall and Liam’s room and presents the bag of fries to Louis.

“I got you some French fries. I kind of ate some though. And so did Nate. And I kind of accidentally dropped them on the floor.”

Louis’ lips pull into a half smile, his eyes sparkling a little even though they look very tired. “Thanks, Harry,” he says, his voice heavy with sleep.

“Anything for you, Lou.”

The boy stills for a second, his eyes widening a fraction of an inch, before they pull down again.

“I think you need to drink some more water.”

Water. Yes. He was supposed to drink lots of that tonight. He didn’t do that. Which maybe is the reason why he feels very not good right now.

“I think I’m gonna go puke first,” he says, shoving the bag of fries into his hands and then takes off down the hall to go throw up.

///

“I am never going to another party ever again,” he says as he falls face first onto the futon the next morning.

“I told you to drink lots of water and you didn’t listen to me,” Louis says from above, his voice verging on teasing.

Harry only groans in response. He feels like death. Like someone repeatedly ran him over with a semi truck and then disposed his body in the bottom of a river. His head is aching, and his body is sore, and he can’t remember one thing he did last night, though he knows that whatever he did end up doing, he probably embarrassed himself to no end.

Louis laughs from above him, rubbing a hand across the span of his back. Harry stills at it, wanting to give in and relax under his touch. But he can’t. Even in this state of being, he knows that he can’t give in. This is just friendly bro stuff and he can’t be the one to make things awkward.

Never mind the fact that he’s secretly preening under Louis’ touch. Not that it matters, anyway.

“I think you just need some fresh air,” Louis says, trying to pull him up to his feet. “Come on, let’s go for a walk.”

“No,” Harry groans, shoving his face further into his pillows. “Leave me here to die.”

“Don’t be so dramatic, Curly. That’s my job.”

Louis gives up anyway, going back to rubbing Harry’s back. He pushes at some of the knots, and Harry can’t help it. He really can’t. He lets out a moan and relaxes under his touch, only to bite his lip and silently curse every single swear word he knows in his head when Louis’ hand stills.

“Uh,” he stutters, pulling his hand away hesitantly.

Harry only stuffs his face farther into the pillow, wanting to cry from humiliation. He definitely just crossed the fine line of being bros. He’s not positive, but he’s pretty sure moaning from a back rub is a definite ‘no’ on that list.

“I’m gonna go call Jack now. I told him I’d call him today. Yeah,” Louis says, quickly jumping off the futon and racing out of the room.

Harry groans loudly this time, wanting to scream into the pillow and maybe even cry a little bit. He’s fucked everything up. Everything was going perfectly, but then he had to bring in his feelings and now everything is completely and utterly messed up. And he’s scared the boy off.

“What have I done?” he groans into the pillow.

“I think you drank a lot last night,” Niall says, his voice as rough sounding as Harry’s. He picks his head up off the pillow, seeing Niall walking into the room with a hand pressed to his forehead. “And I know that I did too. Holy shit. My head is killing me.”

So is Harry’s. But at this point, he’s not sure if it’s because of all the alcohol he had last night or if it’s because of what just happened with Louis.

“I fucked everything up, Niall,” he groans.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I just took about twenty steps over the bro line with Louis.”

Niall moves slowly to his side, cradling the garbage can to his chest and lying back beside him on the futon. His skin looks clammy. “I have no idea what you’re talking about right now, mate.”

“He was rubbing my back and I just moaned and completely freaked him out. He ran away and said that he’s going to call Jack.”

Niall grunts in response. “I’m tellin’ ya, Haz, they’re not gonna last much longer.”

Harry can only hope that he’s right. He doesn’t know how much longer he can wait.

///

Three weeks. It’s been three weeks of constant ‘Jack this’ and ‘Jack that.’ Harry’s about ready to blow his top off.

It’s gotten to the point where he no longer wants to even be in the same room as Louis. The lack of communication between them is slowly killing him and he desperately wants everything to go back to normal, even if that means he has to suppress all of his feelings and remain friends for the end of eternity. He just wants to have some kind of interaction between them, is the thing, and he’d be willing to do anything to get it.

That’s probably the reason why he’s sitting at dinner right now with Louis and the boys for the first time in about a week. And it’s not like he’s been purposely avoiding them or anything, it’s just he’s been busy. With tests. And homework. And the such.

In reality, he realizes that it’s probably the biggest lie. Truthfully, he couldn’t take anymore talk about Jack. But now he’s back, yet again, because he’s weak. He’s addicted to Louis, no matter how annoying and irritating it is to hear a name being uttered that’s other than Harry’s. It doesn’t matter what he talks about. Harry always comes running back. And this time, he’s hoping that things will go back to normal.

Even though today is much different than normal.

“You alright there, mate?” Niall asks, grinning at Harry from across the table.

And no. He is most certainly not okay. Because Louis is quite literally hanging onto his arm right now. He’s breathing down his neck and in Harry’s bubble of space that shouldn’t be violated.

Except, it’s okay. Because it’s Louis. And Harry wants Louis to violate every space bubble he has. Maybe.

“No,” he sighs dramatically, trying—though not very hard—to shake Louis off his arm so he can continue his meal. “Can’t eat with this pesky gnat on my arm, now can I?”

“You take that back!” Louis gasps, slapping his arm in mock anger. He keeps his hand wrapped around Harry’s bicep, and Harry really should push it off, but he’s weak and he’d do anything just to keep Louis’ hands touching him.

“Not until you get your hands away from me.”

And with a bit of reluctance—or so Harry likes to think—Louis extracts himself from his arms, moving over just enough so that his thighs are just barely touching Harry’s.

He keeps to himself for awhile, just quietly eating and Harry swears he keeps taking quiet, little glimpses at him while he eats. Each time he tries to catch him, however, his eyes are always looking the other way. It almost becomes a game, and Harry loses every time.

Finally, about six forkfuls later, Louis reattaches himself to Harry’s side once again, leaning into his neck and sniffing at his shirt.

“Not quite sure about your hair right now, Curly,” he whispers in his ear, tangling his fingers in it and twirling the curls around. He gently tugs at the ends, and Harry’s pretty certain that he may actually break down and cry from all of the sexual tension he has built up in his body. His mind is shutting down, his thought scattered. He’s not even sure what he’s supposed to do in this situation.

Does he let his body melt into the touch of Louis’ fingers like his body craves? Does he push him away and laugh at it, pretending as if the whole thing is a joke? Does he sit still and wait for him be the first to untangle himself from his hair? What is he supposed to do?

He looks at Niall, eyes wide and frantic probably, but the boy only sits there and shrugs his shoulders, a solid grin hiding behind his forkful of pasta. He smirks, raising his eyebrows as if it’s supposed to communicate some kind of secret that will suddenly explain Louis’ odd behavior. And honestly, screw him. He’s supposed to help Harry right now, not smirk and play coy.

“Uh, Louis?” he questions, his voice deep and throaty and fuck—why does the boy have such an impact on him? He clears his throat twice, his stomach fluttering when Louis accidentally tugs on a strand. “You’re very touchy right now.”

Louis hums, slowly untangling his fingers and letting his hand trail down his arm. “Is it bothering you?” he purrs in ear.

Harry bites his lip, and Niall chokes on his pasta from across the table, his face turning red as he begins to laugh. Liam slaps him across the back, his own face looking like it’s about to split open with laughter.

“Uh,” Harry says, not knowing exactly what to say. His mind is in a fog, his thoughts on repeat of ‘Louis, Louis, Louis.’

“I think you might like it,” Louis says, his eyes very deliberately stopping at the way Harry’s jeans are tenting. He smirks, twirling another lock in between his forefinger and thumb.

Harry moves to cover his crotch, feeling squirmy and jumpy all of a sudden. It’s all too much. He wants to give in to Louis’ touch, wants to feel the way his fingertips dance across his skin and tug at his hair. He wants to lean into his side and feel his heart beat against the shell of his ear.

But somewhere in the back of his mind, somewhere very deep and tucked away, a small voice reminds him of something he’d much rather forget.

“Don’t you have a boyfriend, Lou?” he squeaks out.

And there. He said it. It’s out there and he’s going to regret it later tonight, but it’s a price he’ll have to pay.

Louis startles, pulling back only slightly to try and make eye contact with Harry, but Harry blatantly stares straight ahead, unable to look at him. He’s surprised when Louis snuggles even closer to his body.

“If you didn’t ditch Niall, Liam, and I so much, you’d know that we broke up about a week ago.”

And to say Harry that is overjoyed would be an understatement of the century.


	5. Chapter 5

If someone had told Harry a month ago that he would be sitting right next to Louis, pressed up to his side at the local milkshake restaurant down the street, he’d probably laugh pitifully before walking home alone so he can cry at how cruel the world is. There would be no way that that dream would ever be true a month ago. 

In just that short amount of time, Louis had a boyfriend, Harry was pining helplessly after said boy, and Liam and Zayn never spoke.

But if there’s one thing that Harry has learned about time, it’s that a lot can change in a span of one month. Because here he is, sitting right next to Louis in said milkshake restaurant down the street.

“But you have a car,” he whines quietly around his straw, trying not to gain any more attention from Liam and Niall who sits across from them, both mindlessly jabbering with each other. They’ve already been raising curious eyebrows at Harry and Louis with the way they’re sitting, but Harry doesn’t mind too much. He quite likes the way he’s pressed up against Louis. If he were a little braver, he would grab Louis’ arm and wrap it around his shoulders so that he could lean into his side, maybe rest his head against his and drink the same milkshake through the same straw.

Little steps, though. That’s what he’s aiming for.

“So what?” Louis asks, his mouth full of milkshake and his lips looking extra red from the cold drink. Harry bets he could warm them up with his own.

“It’d be easier if you drove me home instead of having my mom come all the way out here and then drive me all the way home. That’s a far commute for one day.”

Louis gives him an unimpressed look, his eyebrows nearly reaching his hairline. “You live in the complete opposite direction of me,” he says. “You’re practically on the other side of the state.”

“So you can sleep over that first night. We can have a slumber party, Lou. Just you and me.”

Louis considers it, his cheeks hollowing as he sucks on a straw, completely oblivious to the thoughts and images that are now permanently etched behind Harry’s eyelids. They’re going to sneak into his dreams at night and his daydreams during the day. Coming to this milkshake restaurant with Louis is going to be the death of him, he swears it.

“We practically have a slumber party every night, you know,” Louis says, and right—Harry forgot they were having a conversation. “We sleep right next to each other on the futon, in case you’ve forgotten.”

“Yes, but you’ve never been in bed with me.”

Louis’ eyes widen a little, a little smirk dancing on his lips as he leans away from Harry with a knowing look, his eyebrows dancing.

Harry shakes his head frantically. This is really not what he needs right now. His mind is already clogged with inappropriate images of Louis and hollowed cheeks, he really does not need to think about Louis and beds. Not right now, at least.

“I mean to sleep,” he clarifies quickly, playfully slapping his arm. “Get your head out of the gutter.”

He’s not sure if he’s talking to Louis at this point or himself.

“I’m sure you’d love to do something more than just sleep.”

Harry chokes on his milkshake ever so eloquently. “What?”

“Nothing, nothing,” Louis hums, pointedly taking another long sip of his milkshake. He’s smirking around the straw, fluttering his eyelashes. The bastard.

It’s been like this for the past two weeks—sly, flirtatious comments. And they’re all whispered under his breath, like he’s either afraid to say it out loud, or it’s meant to just spur Harry on. Either way, Harry hates it because he can’t tell if Louis is actually trying to flirt with him, or if he’s just being a dick.

“We could do things that are more than sleeping, too,” he whispers quietly, nudging his shoulder. Two can play at that game.

Louis leans in closer, his voice lowering and his eyelids growing heavier. “Oh yeah?” he asks, his breath hitting Harry’s cheek. Goosebumps break out all over his body. “And what exactly are you thinking, young Harold?”

His mouth goes dry at just the sound of his voice. It’s messing with his head, making his body do things that he doesn’t particularly like in this moment. He shifts uncomfortably in the seat, his eyes once again returning to the table in front of him. Louis’ fingers are playing with his curls, his other hand resting high on his thigh, teasing him. Always teasing him.

“It sounds like you have something in mind,” he continues to whisper in his ear, his hand trailing up his thigh, getting higher and higher until—

“Oi, love birds,” Niall calls, breaking them out of their little bubble, “care to join the conversation?”

They both spring apart from each other at the same time, Harry’s eyes wide as if he’s just been caught doing something bad. He’s brought back to a time when he was young and innocent, to a time when he would blush and stammer over any mention of a crush. Louis makes him feel like that, makes him feel like he’s so young and so, so innocent. He makes him squirm and blush.

Fuck him.

“What is it that we’re talking about, boys?” Louis asks, throwing himself into the conversation easily, acting as if he wasn’t just about to talk dirty in Harry’s ear.

That’s what always happens. That’s also what drives Harry crazy, because it’s in these moments where he wonders if Louis is only whispering naughty things in his ear because he realizes that it turns Harry on and he enjoys seeing him squirm, or if he actually means what he says.

“Thanksgiving plans,” Liam informs them, “what are you guys doing over break?”

“Ah. Well, this one is trying to convince me to drive him home,” Louis says, pointing his thumb at Harry. “And even though he lives on the other side of the state, he’s somehow managed to convince me.”

“You’re taking me home?” he can’t hide his excitement. He’s definitely not good at playing it cool.

“I suppose so,” Louis answers, shaking his head lightly before turning his attention to the other two boys sitting across the table. “Do you guys need a ride home?”

“Nah,” Liam answers. “Zayn is picking me and Niall up.”

“Zayn,” Louis states.

Liam’s smile blossoms on his face. It’s probably one of the first times Harry has ever seen him smile like that since he met him. And that’s saying something, too, because even though it’s only been a short, three months since Harry’s met him, he’s seen the smile on his face whenever he gets an A on an important exam, and even that smile can’t compare to this smile. It’s radiating—blinding almost.

“He’s back in Massachusetts,” Liam prattles on, “said that he’s not going back to California.”

“And he’s picking you guys up?” Louis accuses. He looks at Niall, his eyebrows furrowing. “How come I’m just finding this out now?”

“This is all news to me, too, mate,” Niall says, turning his attention to Liam. “When did this all happen?”

Liam only shrugs his shoulders in response, his fingers twisting the straw in his milkshake, and a dreamy smile on his face.

“No, none of that,” Louis says, briefly leaving Harry’s side so he can gently punch Liam’s shoulder. “What happened?”

He shrugs again, a big smile still on his face. “We’ve been talking awhile now. He apologized and all that and he’s going to return back to school next semester.”

“And you’re forgiving him?”

“Of course,” he says confidently. “Why wouldn’t I?”

It’s quiet around the table for a split second. Everyone shares a look with one another, each of them taking a small sip of their milkshake.

“Seriously guys,” Liam continues, “why wouldn’t I forgive him?”

“Well, he ditched you to go to California, for starters,” Louis mutters before anyone could stop him.

“Louis,” Harry scolds, smacking his shoulder.

“What? It’s the truth.”

“Look,” Liam cuts in, effectively cutting off the small fight between Harry and Louis. “I get that you guys are mad at him. I’m still a little upset, myself. But I miss him. And I want to see him. And he said he’ll explain everything to me and make it all up when we see each other tomorrow and the few days following.”

It’s quiet once again, everyone taking another long slip of their milkshake. Finally, after a long pause, Niall speaks up.

“I’m glad that you’re happy, Li,” he says, “And if you can forgive him, then we can too. Right, Louis?”

“Only after I threaten him to never break your heart again.”

“We’re glad that you guys are making up,” he continues, ignoring Louis and kicking him in the shin. “And we’re glad that you’re happy once again.”

“Thanks, you guys. That really means a lot to me.”

He smiles at everyone around the table, a genuine one that melts Harry’s heart. It’s something he’s only ever seen true couples, only soul mates, would do.

///

“I can’t believe I’m actually driving you home,” Louis mutters a day later, the morning sun just barely rising. Harry scrambles to get in the car, struggling to buckle his seatbelt, his breath fogging up the windows.

“You can complain all you want, but I know you secretly want to see Noodles.”

Louis shakes his head, cranking up the heat in his car. He has his face hidden, but Harry can still spot the way he’s pressing his lips together, trying to bite back an inevitable smile.

“You are completely out of my way,” he whines again. “You live in the complete opposite direction of where I need to go.”

“So we can make a road trip out of it! Come on, Lou, loosen up!”

“It’s gonna be a pretty lame road trip then. We’re only going to be in the car for three hours.”

“And it’ll be the best three hours of your entire life,” he says as he takes the aux cord from Louis’ hands and plugs in his phone. “We need to set the mood. First, the music.”

“No hipster music,” Louis says immediately. “I mean it, Harold,” he adds when he sees Harry pouting at him. “No hipster.”

“My music isn’t hipster,” he grumbles, scrolling through songs that say otherwise. Which, he knows he’s lying, but his lie earns him an adorable grumble in protest from Louis. So, he wins, naturally.

“This doesn’t feel like a road trip,” Louis mumbles.

“That’s because the second step to the best road trip ever is rolling the windows down,” Harry says.

“It’s November, Harry. Have you forgotten that it’s fucking freezing out? No, we are not rolling the windows down.”

“Lou,” he whines, dragging out the vowel. “Road trip. This is an essential.”

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” he mutters once again, still a small quirk on his lip as he rolls all of the windows down and opens the sunroof on top. Their hair blows around them, the wind loud, and the music louder.

There’s something so perfect about this. It’s cold out, but the sky is an endless blue and Harry’s sat with the boy of his dreams in a car for three hours. Something in him just explodes.

“She says we gotta hold on, to what we’ve got,” Harry screams loudly, glancing over at Louis who’s shaking his head, his bottom lip trapped under his teeth to hide his smile. “Come on Lou,” he sing songs, grabbing his wrist and waving it back and forth. “Sing with me!”

“No,” Louis refuses, taking his wrist back.

“We’ve got each other, and that’s a lot for love,” he continues in song, waggling his eyebrows and tracing a heart with his fingertips in the air. He watches Louis, liking the way he’s rolling his eyes fondly before he takes in a deep breath and bursts out the next lyrics.

“We’ll give it a shot!”

“Whoaaaa!” they both scream together, their arms flying above their heads and out of the sunroof, the wind blowing their hair around in the car as they drive fast down the highway. The sky is a crystal, clear blue, with big puffs of white clouds scattered across it—a perfect picture for a road trip.

“Take my hand,” Louis sings, entwining his fingers with Harry’s, holding their hands up in a proud fist above their head . “We’ll make it I swear!”

“Whoa!” Harry echoes back, “livin’ on a prayer!”

He stops to glance over at Louis, his breath knocked out of him when he sees him. Harry always knew how attractive Louis is, but right now—right now he’s looking like he’s a godly figure, like one that has graced the earth without so much knowing as to how incredibly beautiful they look. His cheeks are flushed from screaming the lyrics, his hair whipping around his face, his blue eyes bright as they glance at Harry in between watching the road in front of him. His skin seems to glow, radiating as if he’s the sun himself, and Harry is just a merely beachgoer on the sand. He’s looking at Harry with no clue as to what he’s doing to him. He’s just sitting there, smiling and pretending like he knows all the words to a song he clearly doesn’t know, and it’s just so Louis. 

He’s so taken with the boy, so completely and utterly falling for him and he wants nothing more than to take him and hold him close forever.

He shakes out of his thoughts as soon as Louis slaps his thigh, singing the chorus once again. Harry laughs at him, watching as he continues his amazing rendition of the song, including all of the dramatic gestures and intricate hand movements. Harry can only stare at him, feeling so lost and happy for the boy sitting beside him, dancing to Bon Jovi like an idiot.

He joins him once again, and now there are two dancing idiots in one car until the music dies down and ends shortly after.

“What’s next on the road trip playlist, dear Harold?”

“So you trust me with the music now, huh?” he asks scrolling through his songs.

“Shut up and pick a song.”

“We’re gonna slow things down a bit,” he says, playing the song, the car filling with soft guitar and violin. His body suddenly feeling a little warm when Louis turns to him and raises his eyebrows.

“How is this a road trip song again?”

And Harry really has no answer to that. It’s not a road trip song by any means. But he certainly can’t tell Louis that. “Everyone needs a little Celine Dion in their life. Am I right?”

“Wrong.”

“Oh come on, Louis. Don’t be like that.”

Louis shakes his head, and that really won’t do. He takes his hand in his, softly pressing tiny kisses to his knuckles. And if Louis asks him why he’s suddenly being so touchy, he’ll just blame it on the song. That’s all.

“Take me,” he sings, “back into the arms I love.”

And just like last time, Louis is quick to follow, singing back the next line with as much enthusiasm as Harry. They serenade each other, Harry turning his entire body to face Louis, balling his hands into fists that are held close to his chest.

“Need me,” they sing together, “like you did before!”

“Touch me once again,” Louis sings lowly, his hand landing on Harry’s dick, and an embarrassing squeal escaping Harry’s mouth. Louis smirks, bringing his hand back up to the steering wheel. “And remember when,” he continues as if he hadn’t just touched Harry in the most intimate place.

That dick.

He knows what he’s doing and it’s not nice. Nor is it fair because Harry would do the same thing back if they weren’t driving. They don’t need to get into an accident right now.

Louis continues to sing dramatically beside him, but he can’t even focus on it. His thoughts are scattered, which makes him feel so utterly ridiculous because it was literally just Louis’ hand on his dick over his jeans. It shouldn’t affect him this much.

Fuck.

They pull into a gas station a few seconds later, pulling Harry out of his thoughts. He watches as Louis fishes his wallet out of his pocket, turning the car off, the music still playing through Harry’s phone.

“Don’t go,” he sings, giggling and tugging on Louis’ forearm as he moves to get out of the car. “You know you’ll break my heart.”

“She won’t love you like I will,” Louis sings back, tugging his arm out of Harry’s grasp and puffing his chest out, his nose turned up in the air. He blows Harry a kiss and steps out of the car, fiddling with the gas pump.

And Harry really can’t have that. He scrambles out of the car, carrying his phone in his hands, Celine’s voice once again playing in the background. He stops in front of Louis, a gap in between them, as they stare at each other, both of them trying to suppress a small smile while Celine continues to sing in the background.

And Harry’s losing this staring game. He’ll probably never win against Louis, now that he thinks about it. Especially not when he looks so carefree and happy, and so, so beautiful. Like he does every day.

Harry feels frozen in his spot just watching him, but then he giggles and takes a step closer to him, singing along with Celine and feeling his heart beat hard against his chest. He can hear his pulse ringing in his ears, even over the music, and he’s not sure if that’s a good thing.

“I’m the one who’ll stay,” he sings.

They both take one more step towards each other, their chests pressed flushed together and their eyes latched with smiles much too big for their faces.   
“When she walks away,” Louis answers in a whisper.

“And you know I’ll be standing here still.”

They carefully lace their fingers together, Louis’ eyes trailing up Harry’s arm before landing on his face. They both smile goofily at each other, not saying a word for a brief second.

“I’ll be waiting for you!” they both scream obnoxiously loud, breaking apart from each other with a twirl. They clutch at their chests, giggling when they do the same thing. “Here inside my heart!”

“I’m the one who wants to love you more!” Harry answers him, racing to his side and picking him up. They twirl around in a circle, Louis spreading his arms out wide and looking up at the sky, screaming the next line as he does so.

They look like proper idiots right now, just dancing and screaming the lyrics at a lonely gas station on the corner of two quiet roads. And maybe Harry should care that the cashier has taken out her phone and is now videotaping them. And maybe he should care that the one other person at the pump across from them is openly staring at them and ushering his child inside the car. But he can’t find a reason why he should. He’s having fun. He’s making Louis giggle. And if dancing like an idiot and singing like nails on a chalkboard means he gets to hear Louis’ heartwarming laughter, then he would do it ten times over again.

They continue to dance like that, even after the gas has finished pumping. Harry’s so lost in the way that he’s holding Louis in his arms, enjoying the way his hand is pressed to the small in Louis’ back, that he doesn’t even realize that the song has ended and a new has started.

They breathe out a string of giggles, laughing at each other with flushed cheeks and their hair windblown and frazzled. Harry stares at Louis, drinking in his appearance. The tips of his ears are a little red and his fingers keep delicately brushing his hair away from his face. If he was to be frozen here for all eternity, he’d be okay with that if it means he can stare at Louis all day.

“Let’s get back in the car,” Louis offers. “We’ve got a long way to go still.”

“Thanks for the show boys!” a woman shouts from inside the store, waving at them with a wink.

Louis and Harry both just share a look, grimacing before bumbling into each other as they try and hurry inside the car. It’s completely silent as they turn back onto the road, just the air flowing through the open car windows and the sunroof.

And then they burst out laughing. “We’re idiots!” Louis exclaims. “I can’t believe we actually did that.”

“I saw her videotaping us.”

“Joy,” Louis says.

“What if we go viral. Louis! What if we go viral?”

“Yes, because that’s exactly what we want to be known for—dancing like complete fools to Celine Dion’s ‘To Love You More.’”

Harry shrugs his shoulders. “Wouldn’t bother me, to be honest.”

And he’s being honest, too. That was him out there, being himself and only himself with a boy who makes him feel comfortable doing stupid things like that. And for once, he doesn’t have to hide his fond. He can be himself and not worry about taking it too far, and worrying over some stupid boundary line. Because for the first time since Harry has met him, Louis Tomlinson is single.

“Course it wouldn’t bother you,” Louis says. “You’re from Meryl, Massachusetts! A place that nobody knows of. You’re probably living in a city with a population of one.”

“Excuse you,” he says, “I happen to live with my family. That would make the population four.”

Louis smiles, keeping his eyes trained forward. “My point exactly.” He fiddles with the radio, turning it to some kind of pop station. Harry lets it be for now. “No, but really. What’s Meryl like?”

“Boring.”

“Boring. Great description, there. You’re doing a great job selling it. I’m so glad that I get to visit.”

Harry shoves him gently—if there’s such a thing as gently shoving someone. “Shut up,” he says, rolling his window up. “It’s really not that boring. It’s just quiet.”

“You’re not very good at describing things, are you?” Harry groans. “Come on! Tell me some stories. Paint me a picture. What does your house look like? What’s your farm like? Will I be expected to pick up horse shit while I’m there?”

“If you tease me or continue to pester me, then yes, I will make you go ‘clean up horse shit.’”

“Is that your job on the farm?”

“Not usually. My mom loves horses. Spends most of her day out in the stable and in the fields with them.” He pauses, not even realizing that he’s smiling until he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror. “We used to have mother-son bonding time every Sunday morning. We’d take two of the horses down to this pond near our house, and we’d eat lunch there, and she’d pester me about life.”

Louis hums, a soft smile on his face. “Sounds like you’re very close to her even though she pesters you,” he teases.

“We are,” Harry confesses. “Even now, when I’m away at college, she still calls me every Sunday morning and tells me that she’s at the pond. She likes to call it Harry’s Pond.”

“Why’s that?”

“Well, the main reason is because she’s only ever taken me there. She’s very keen on mother-son bonding time, and father-daughter bonding time. So while my sister, Gemma, and my dad went to do their thing, my mom and I would go to the pond and talk.”

“How long have you been doing that?”

“Since I was about two,” he says chuckling, running a hand through his hair. “We didn’t do a lot of talking at that age. For about the first two or three years of going there, I would just strip out of my clothes and run straight into the water while she ran after me, just trying to get me out. She started to put me in a bathing suit after the first few visits, but I never liked them,” he says, laughing at the fond memory. “She gave up eventually and joined me in the water after a while.”

“That’s very sweet,” Louis chimes in.

“Yeah,” Harry nods, “it is.”

There’s a lull in the conversation and he can see that Louis is looking at him with a simple smile that maybe Harry isn’t supposed to see. But he saw it. And he’s glad that he did.

“So I’ll meet your mom,” Louis says. “Who else will I meet?”

And at that, Harry launches into his family, including all of the animals on the farm. He talks about each one, taking time to describe some of the smallest details about each animal, and even though he knows that he’s probably boring Louis to no end, Louis just continues to nod his head and engage him in conversation. He asks questions about the small details and even though Harry’s fairly certain he really doesn’t particularly care that Honey, one of their cows, really likes pickles, Louis pretends like it’s the most interesting thing in the world.

And Harry really appreciates that.

They share stories back and forth after he successfully tells Louis all about the different animals, the fruits and vegetables they grow, and the different flowers he keeps in his garden. Before long, they’re pulling into the little dirt road that Harry grew up on with the corn fields across his house.

“Welcome to Styles with a Twist Family Farms,” Louis reads, his eyes widening and his jaw falling slack. “No way,” he says astonished.

“What?” Harry asks, a little nervously. He points to his driveway. “You can park behind that silver car over there.”

Louis doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, only the car bumping along the dirt road filling the empty air. He’s shaking his head, his jaw slightly ajar as he stops the car and takes in his surroundings.

“What’s the matter, Lou?” Harry all but whispers. “What’s wrong?”

“You have got to be kidding me.”

“What?”

“You live here?”

“Yeah?”

“Harry, when you said you lived on a farm, I was expecting some kind of mediocre farm,” he says. He turns around in his seat to gesture back to the sign he saw down the road. “This is like the most popular farm in all of Massachusetts! This is the farm that kindergartners come to for a field trip! It’s like a museum! And you live here! And you didn’t tell me!”

“Well…you didn’t ask?” Harry asks with a little voice. He starts giggling as soon as Louis turns to face him, a hand pressed to his chest as if he’s been stabbed.

“Harold! This is not something I’m supposed to ask about and you know it!”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” he apologizes through his laughter. “I didn’t think you’d know about it.”

“Know about it?” Louis exclaims. “Of course I know about it! I came here when I was five with my kindergarten class. So did all of my little sisters.”

Harry is shocked by that to say the least. “Really?” he asks.

Louis nods his head. “Learned all about the chickens and roosters. And I was chosen to milk the cow.”

He puffs his chest out, acting as if that’s the most impressive thing he’s ever done in his life. Harry can only smile at him, probably breaking out in his ugly fond face that he always pulls whenever he’s around Louis.

“That’s pretty impressive,” he says, opening the car door and goes to the back trunk. Louis meets him back there and helps Harry with his bags before grabbing his own.

“It still looks the same when I came here,” he says, bumping his shoulder against Harry’s. “Just think, we could’ve met all those years ago.”

“Probably didn’t though,” Harry says, shaking his head. “I never got to help the school field trips because I was always at school myself.”

Louis hums, closing the back trunk and walking with Harry up to his house. “Did you help teach on the weekends?”

Harry nods his head, leading him to the front door. “I was in charge of the goats,” he mutters under his breath. “I hated the goats. I was originally in charge of the baby chicks, which were my favorite, but then I, uh, kinda snuck out one night and got in a lot of trouble,” he says sheepishly, scratching at the back of his neck. Louis smiles delightedly at him. “And so my mom put me in charge of the goats as punishment because she knows how much I hate them. Then, I just got stuck with them for the rest of the year, I guess.”

“What about this sneaking out, huh?”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Of course that’s the thing you choose to focus on,” he mutters.

“Come on, tell me the story.”

“There’s really not that much to tell. I just snuck out one night and my mom caught me and—”

“Harry!”

“Speak of the devil,” he whispers to Louis, turning to face his mom standing in the doorway. “Hi, mom.”

She walks quickly to his side, pulling him into a hug and squeezing him until he’s sure that he’s lost all of his breath. “I’ve missed you so much, Hazza bear,” she says, running a loving hand through his hair. “You need to come home more often.”

She pulls away slowly, holding him out at arm’s length and looking him up and down, a happy, yet loving, frown on her face. “You look even more handsome than last time,” she whispers, pulling on Harry’s shoulder so she can give him a kiss on the cheek.

Harry gives a quick kiss to her cheek too, straightening up and then clears his throat. “I’ve brought a friend with me,” he says, gesturing to Louis whose standing beside him with his hands holding his backpack nimbly in front of him. “This is Louis.”

It’s like his mom is only now seeing him, her eyes widening as she turns to face him. “Hello, Louis,” she says warmly, pulling him into a hug briefly. “I’m Anne. Harry’s wonderful mother.”

“It’s great to meet you, Anne. Harry talked very fondly of you on the car ride here.”

“Oh he did, did he?” she asks, reaching up to pinch Harry’s cheek. “Did my Hazza bear miss me?” He swats his hand at hers, frowning when she laughs. “Well, come on in, you two,” she says, leading them to the front porch. “Don’t just stand in the middle of the driveway.”

They follow behind her, a few steps back, Harry’s shoes scuffing against the dirt driveway.

“Hazza bear,” Louis reiterates under his breath, knocking his shoulder against Harry’s.

“Shut up.”

“He is our little Hazza bear,” Anne says, whipping around with a smile on her face. “Ever since he was just a little baby. My little, baby Hazza bear.”

Harry very much wants to tell his own mother to shut up too, but something in his gut tells him that maybe that’s not the best idea.

“Come on, Louis,” he says instead, ignoring the way his mom coos at him and tries to embarrass him even more. He tugs Louis inside the house, leading him up the stairs to his room. “You can put your stuff on my bed.”

“Okay, little, baby Hazza bear.”

He turns around and glares at him, clearly not impressed with Louis, even though his stomach is secretly tumbling around. It must be a Louis thing, because he’s never liked that nickname.

“I’m gonna pretend like you didn’t call me that.”

“Why?” Louis challenges. “What would you do if you did hear me call you little, baby Hazza bear?”

He would probably push him down on the bed, maybe kiss his lips until they both need to stop for air, and then lie his head on his chest. Or maybe something a little more than kissing. Something a little more scandalous and mature.

And even though he technically can do that now, he doesn’t know if now would be the best time. Especially not with his mom walking back and forth in the hallway upstairs, clearly eavesdropping on their conversation. He moves to shut his door, turning around to face Louis. He’s lying back on his bed now, his shirt rucked up and exposing a sliver of his tan stomach.

Harry licks his lips just staring at it, his jeans seeming to get a little tighter in the front.

“What was that?” Louis teases, propping himself up on his elbow. He’s looking at Harry with hooded eyes, and fuck—he totally knows what he’s doing to Harry right now. He has to know. His eyes keep traveling down to Harry’s crotch and back up again. There’s no doubt that he knows what he’s doing to him.

“Fuck,” Harry mutters, walking closer to the bed. He wants to jump onto it, kiss Louis hungrily, maybe leave marks on his neck and trace over his abs beneath his fingertips. He sits on the edge of the bed, just staring at him, listening to the way his breathing has suddenly become labored.

“You’re looking a little flustered there, Styles,” Louis says, raising his eyebrows at him. He licks his lips slowly, his eyes trained on Harry’s own lips.

“You know very well why,” Harry whispers, leaning in closer to him, licking his own lips unconsciously. Louis swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, his eyes becoming dilated quickly.

“Show me,” he all but whispers, his breath fanning across Harry’s face.

And that’s all Harry needs to hear. He pulls himself closer to him, his lips just inches away from his. Up close, he’s never seen anything more tempting and heart-hammering than Louis. The way he smells is intoxicating and his eyes have only just a tiny blue ring around the pupil.

“Kiss me,” Louis says quietly when Harry still hasn’t moved.

And just as his lips are about to touch Louis’, the door swings open behind them, making Harry fall off the bed and land on the floor with a thud. “Door open, Harry,” Anne sing songs, her smirk a complete tell-all that she knows exactly what was about to happen. “Dinner will be ready in fifteen minutes.”

She leaves the room with a giggle and all Harry can do is stare up at the ceiling and groan. Louis leans over the side and smirks at him.

“Gonna go camping?” he asks.

“Huh?”

“I see you’ve got a tent,” he adds, chin jutting out to the obvious buldge in his pants.

Harry only groans in response, once again, rolling over to his front to conceal it and his red cheeks. This may actually be the longest day ever.

///

Dinner goes smoothly, much to Harry’s surprise. He thought for sure that it would be one big awkward fest where Gemma and his mom tease him relentlessly in front of Louis, bringing up embarrassing stories from his childhood and calling him pet names that he only likes when Louis calls him.

Much to his surprise, however, most of the dinner steers clear of all of that. It consists of civil talk of Louis’ plans after college, him complimenting his mom’s cooking and all the new happenings at school. It feels comfortable, normal even. Like this is what it’s supposed to be like if they were to actually date.

And it’s not like that thought hasn’t crossed Harry’s mind while sitting at the dinner table. Because it has. Multiple times, even. Every time Louis made his family laugh, that was the very first thing he would think about. He just fits. He fits perfectly in their little family and he would love to keep him there forever.

“Thank you so much for dinner, Anne. It was probably the most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted in my entire life.”

Anne laughs, shooting a look at Harry—one that clearly means that he likes this boy. Maybe just as much as Harry does. It makes him feel happy that she approves.

“Oh, you’re very welcome, dear,” she says, wiping at her mouth with a napkin. “I’m glad that Harry has found a great friend while at school.”

And Harry knows that tone of voice, and paired up with those dancing little eyebrows she has going on, he doesn’t like where this is going, exactly. “Yeah,” he says quickly. “He’s a great friend.”

He takes his and Louis’ plate from off the table, taking it to the sink on the other side of the room, hoping that his move to clear the dishes will trigger his mom and sister to do the same.

“I can’t believe I can finally meet the famous Louis,” Anne says, a softer tone in her voice this time. Harry doesn’t know what’s worse. “Your name came up quite frequently on our Sundays, didn’t it, Harry?”

He knows that she’s looking at him right now, knows that she’s probably wearing a shit eating grin on her face because at this point, she knows why he’s always bringing him up. He always thought that he did a pretty good job at hiding his obvious crush on the boy, but obviously he’s not as sneaky as he thinks he is. Maybe he brought up his name too often, and now that he’s sitting here in the flesh, it’s suddenly very obvious that he has a crush on this boy. He’s never been one to hide his emotions.

“Oh, really?” Louis says, turning his attention to Harry now. “And what did young Harold say about me?”

“Just told me the occasional story here and there.” She’s smirking at Harry and Harry really just feels like banging his head against the wall right about now.

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t talk about me as if I’m not standing right here,” he says, making his way back to the table, reluctantly taking his seat beside Louis once again.

“But I want to hear what you had to say about me, Curly!” Louis says, patting his thigh.

“You just wanna hear all the good things about yourself. You’re self absorbed,” he teases, earning himself a thump to the back of his head.

“You take that back.”

“Never.”

He’s just about to lean in close to Louis’ face and repeat his sentence just to irk him, but suddenly there’s a throat clearing beside him and the chair legs screaming against the floor. “Too much flirting for me to handle,” Gemma says, standing up from the table. “Go make out somewhere else, please.”

“Gemma,” Anne warns.

Harry shoots back in his chair, fiddling with his hands in his lap. He can sense the way his mom is smiling at them from across the table, probably looking at them with heart shaped eyes because that’s what she does.

“Uh, you wanna go look at my Noodles?” he asks ever so eloquently.

“Your Noodles?” Louis repeats, his eyebrows raising. This is just going down in flames now.

“My pig, Noodles,” he clarifies, grabbing Louis’ hand and dragging him away from the kitchen table and out the back door.

He doesn’t even realize that he’s still holding Louis’ hand until their fingers entangle and their palms are pressed together. It takes everything in Harry’s body not to squeal.

“Will Noodles bite me?” Louis asks out of the blue.

“She’s a pig.”

“Pigs can bite, Harry.”

“No, she’s not gonna bite you,” he laughs. He leads him to the barn, pulling open the doors. “Noodles!” he sings. “Come here, Princess.”

She comes trotting around the corner, her little ears flopping over and bouncing with each step. Louis coos under his breath, and all Harry can do is smirk at him.

“Told you she was cute,” he says, bending down to pick her up, scratching at her belly. “She’s a weird pig. Most don’t like to be picked up. But you do, don’t you, girl?”

He scratches behind her ear, listening to the way she squeaks happily. He’s missed that noise a lot.

“She’s very cute,” Louis says, hesitantly reaching out a hand to pet her.

“Noodles, this is my friend, Louis. Say, ‘hi Louis!’”

He picks up her paw, waving it back and forth in front of Louis’ face who only laughs in return.

“Hi, Noodles. You’re very lucky to have young Harold as your owner. He may be a bit of a nut ball, but he’s certainly a good guy. Handsome, too.”

Harry has to duck his face just to hide his burning cheeks. “And these two lovebirds are Dorothy and Elmer,” he says a little flustered, leading Louis to the two cows in the corner. “Elmer, are you giving her a hug? Huh?”

Louis coos beside him, gently brushing his hand over the top of Dorothy’s head. “They’re very cute.”

“They are. They can’t ever be separated. They’re attached at the hip.”

They walk outside the barn, Noodles trailing behind them.

“And this is where we keep our horses,” Harry says, gesturing to the stables. “And we’re going to ride them.”

“You mean right now?”

“Yes, I mean right now.”

Louis hesitates beside him. “I don’t know about that, Harry.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, they’re probably tired, right? I wouldn’t want to tire them out. They’re beautiful animals, you know?”

Harry watches him carefully, noticing the way his eyes dance warily across the horses. His fingers are toying with the hem of his shirt and his feet kick out uselessly underneath him, scoffing at the rocks and dirt.

“You’re scared,” Harry says.

Louis’ head whips to face him. “I’m not scared.”

“I promise I’ll be right by your side the entire time.”

“I’m not scared,” he says again, this time his voice coming out stronger as if to show that he’s not scared. The way his eyes won’t meet Harry’s is saying another, though.

“Right then,” he says, leading them both over to his two favorite horses, “let’s go.”

“But…uh they just ate dinner, didn’t they?” Louis asks, his voice momentarily stopping Harry as he approaches Randy. “They have to digest and all that.”

“So you’re a horse professional now?” Harry teases, gently petting Randy’s nose. “They ate a while ago. They don’t eat dinner at the same time as us.”

“But—”

“Louis, if you don’t want to go, that’s fine. But you have to tell me, okay?”

Louis looks between Harry and Randy, his eyes dancing wildly. “I want to go,” he says uncertainty, “but I’m…a little afraid.”

“And that’s okay,” Harry reassures him, taking two steps so that he’s right by Louis’ side, his arm encircling him. “They can be a little scary when you don’t know them.”

“They’re just…big.”

“Yes, they are quite big. But they’re big, harmless horses who will love you if you feed them a sugar cube.”

Louis cracks a smile, and Harry counts that as a win. “I want to go,” he says again, this time his eyes meeting Harry’s.

“Want me to introduce you to the one you’d be riding?”

He nods his head.

“This is Randy,” he says, petting his head. “He’s very sweet and gentle. We let some of our youngest visitors ride him. He’ll be your best friend if you scratch his neck.”

Harry very deliberately scratches at Randy’s neck, beckoning Louis to do the same. Louis watches warily, his hands stuffed in his pockets, his feet kicking at the dirt below him.

“Come on, he’s super sweet.”

“Will he bite me?” Louis asks.

“No,” Harry giggles, gently stepping away to grab Louis’ wrist and pull him over to Randy. “Randy, this is my friend, Louis.”

“Nice to meet you, Randy,” Louis mumbles, looking up at the horse with big eyes.

“Scratch his neck, Lou. He loves it,” Harry says, gently taking Louis’ hand in his own and helping him bring it up to Randy’s neck. Harry watches Louis closely, enjoying the way that his lips slowly start to curve up into a smile and his cheeks start to pinken.

“And this is Kinsley,” Harry says, stepping away and gesturing to the other horse nearby. “I’ll be taking her out.”

“You mean we’re not riding the same horse together?”

“No, that’s too much for them to carry.”

“Oh.” He looks wary again, his eyes looking over hesitantly at Randy once again. “He’s safe?”

“Very safe.”

“Okay.” He scratches his neck, smiling when Randy stretches it out. “Please don’t throw me off your back, Randy,” he whispers, throwing a quick glance at Harry and smiling.

“I promise I’ll be by your side the entire time. You’ll be fine.”

///

“I’m not fine!” Louis screams, his knuckles white with holding onto the reins in his hands. “Harry, I swear to God, I am going to die.”

“Louis, you’re fine.”

“Our Father, who art in heaven—”

“Louis, are you praying?”

“Shut up, Harry, and let me fucking pray!” he screams. “I’d like to be on the best terms with Him before I die, okay?”

“Louis, you told me you were atheist a week ago.”

“It’s never too late to convert, Harry,” he snaps.

Harry lets out one startled laugh before trotting closer to Louis. He gently brushes his fingertips along his thigh, trying to hold back his fond smile when Louis continues to whisper a murmured prayer that he’s made up under his breath. “You’re fine. I promise I won’t let you die today on this horse.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” he says, picking his head up. “You’ve been riding horses since you popped out of the womb.” Harry laughs easily, throwing his one leg over the horse and jumping down. He holds out his hand for Louis. “What are you doing?”

“I’m helping you get down.”

He watches as Louis looks at his surroundings, his eyebrows furrowed. He’s clearly confused, and it’s probably ridiculous how incredibly adorable that looks.

“Did we make it to the pond?” he asks, graciously taking Harry’s hand and using it to jump down. He lands heavily on his feet beside him, most of his weight supported by Harry’s hand.

And that’s completely fine.

“We’ll just walk the horses the rest of the way. We’re almost there.”

“Oh thank god,” he says, pressing a chaste kiss to Harry’s cheek. “You’re the best.”

And maybe that’s supposed to be a friendly type thing. Maybe it doesn’t really mean anything. But it certainly has Harry’s stomach in a twist and a flutter in his step.  
He forces himself to keep his hand by his side, no matter how much he wants to cup it in his hands and feel the same exact place that Louis’ own lips just touched.

“Was Randy really that scary?” he asks, desperate to get his thoughts on something other than Louis’ lips.

“Yes,” he deadpans. Harry gives him an unimpressed look, biting his lip when Louis can only giggle under his stare. “Fine,” he sighs. “He wasn’t that bad.”

“Didn’t think so,” Harry winks.

Louis has his face turned away from Harry, and it might be because of his blushing cheeks, Harry thinks. They look a little rosier than usual, and maybe it’s because of the biting, November air, but Harry likes to think it’s because of him.

“Are we almost there?” Louis asks.

Harry confirms, pointing just up ahead at the small pond hidden behind the green leaves and bushes. It’s tucked behind all of the trees, but he’s been here for so long that he could find his way with a blindfold tied around his eyes.

“Just through these trees and we’re there,” he says, guiding both the horses and Louis through the small dirt path to the pond.

“Wow,” Louis breathes, stopping beside him as he looks at the pond. “It’s really nice.”

“It is.”

It looks exactly like he remembers it. The Evergreens reflect off the water, forming a painted picture on top of the rippled water. The lily pads with white flowers are floating gracefully on top, the small frogs humming along to the crickets. It’s peaceful and beautiful.

Or at least it is until—

“Let’s go swimming!”

“Excuse me?” Harry asks, turning his attention to Louis. “It’s November!”

But Louis’ not listening. He’s already stripping off his jacket, throwing it on Randy’s back and reaching down to untie his shoes. “So what?” he asks.

“So what? The water is going to be freezing! And we don’t have a bathing suit.”

“Who said anything about a bathing suit?”

He’s raising his eyebrows at Harry, his eyes roaming down his torso and back up again to meet his eyes.

“No. We are not skinny dipping.”

“You did it when you were two. Might as well do it again,” he says, pulling his shirt over his head, and Harry’s having a very difficult time keeping his eyes on Louis’ face now.

“That was cute and innocent! This is not innocent!”

“Says who?”

He starts to unbutton his jeans, shimmying them down his legs and smirking at Harry as he does so. Fuck him. He knows exactly what he’s doing.

“Louis, my mom and I come here every Sunday. How do you expect me to sit here on the shore and have a nice civil conversation with her knowing that just a few days ago I was swimming in the water naked?”

“What’s so wrong about being naked?” Louis asks, his fingers toying with the edge of his waistband. Harry stares at his hands, waiting impatiently for the last piece of clothing to come off. He swallows thickly, his eyes returning back to Louis who’s clearly amused.

“Fuck it.”

He throws his own jacket to the ground and ripping his clothes off. He hears a splash behind him, Louis head popping up above the water.

“Hurry up, you slow poke!”

“I’m trying!”

His fingers are shaking, and he can’t figure out why. Maybe it’s because he’s nervous of Louis seeing him naked for the first time. Maybe it’s because he realizes that the water is going to be freezing. Or maybe it’s because he’s going to be doing something rather intimate with a person he has a huge, fucking crush on.  
The options are endless.

He hesitantly glances at Louis when he’s just down to his boxers. He feels extremely naked right now and he knows that in just a matter of seconds, he’s going to be even more naked.

“Come on,” Louis calls. “Just take them off and come in.”

And with that, he tugs them down his legs and makes a hasty run to the water, letting it surround him and cover him once again likes a gown.

“Nice ass,” Louis says as soon as his head breaks the surface.

He ducks underneath again just to hide his smile.

///

They don’t stay in the water for very long. It’s too cold. So, with purple lips and wet hair, they make their way back to shore. Harry hurriedly puts his clothes on even though he’s dripping wet. He decides to blame his rush on the frigid air, but in reality, he just felt a little too exposed, even though Louis had told him while they were in the water that he doesn’t have anything to be embarrassed about. Harry has decided not to think about what that entails at the moment. He’s stored that piece of information for when he’s home alone and it’s just him and his hand.

Now, having Louis sitting here beside him on the grass makes it feel intimate. Like he’s letting him into a big part of his life. Like he’s meant to be here with him.

“I can see why you and your mom come here every Sunday,” Louis comments. His voice is quiet. It sounds perfect for this environment.

“It’s very special.”

“I’m special enough to be here?” he asks, scooting closer to Harry, his thigh brushing against his. Harry sucks in a breath, his eyes meeting Louis’ and landing on the dilated pupils.

“Very special.”

Louis smiles at him—the kind that makes Harry’s breathing stop in his throat and his lungs collapse in his chest. He leans in closer to him, feeling his hot breath fan across his cheeks.

“I really like you, Louis,” he all but whispers.

Louis smiles something that is so exceedingly soft that it makes Harry’s entire insides flip. “I really like you too, Harry.”

“I really want to kiss you,” he whispers, his eyes locked on Louis’ lips.

“Then do it.”

And that’s all it takes before Harry finally--finally--leans over and presses his lips against Louis’. It’s something soft, something so gentle at first. Louis’ lips are cold from the water, but something about it sends a warmth that wracks through Harry’s entire body, warming up his entire being.

He sighs into the kiss, pulling away just enough so that their breathing is still intermingled, their noses brushing. He hesitantly brings his hands up to cup Louis’ face, bringing their lips together firmly, this time greedier, more frantic. Louis moans into it, sending electric shivers straight down Harry’s spine.

“Fuck,” he says, reluctantly pulling away. “I’m gonna have to jump back into the cold water if you keep that up, Lou.”

The older boy smirks at him, inching even closer to him and invading his personal space. His hand mindlessly goes up to trace random patterns on Harry’s chest, his fingers slowly dragging down towards the zipper in his pants, until they rest firmly on his dick. Harry gulps loudly, looking at Louis with hooded eyelids.

“You wouldn’t have to jump in the pond, babe,” he says in a low voice. He looks up from underneath his eyelashes, smirking. “I may have a solution to your problem.”

Harry stares at his lips, licking his own before returning his gaze to meet Louis’. His eyes have darkened significantly. The pupils dilated. It sends a signal straight to Harry’s dick. “Please,” he grunts out, bucking his dick into Louis’ palm.

“Now, now,” Louis tuts, “we must be patient, baby.”

“Louis,” Harry whines, “stop teasing.”

Louis chuckles once before leaning in to kiss him firmly, his lips trailing down his neck. Harry stretches it out, his breath stuttering as he feels Louis’ teeth begin to nip at the little bit of skin on his neck.

“Oh, Lou,” he moans out, gulping loudly and throwing his head back even more to expose the wide expanse of his throat. He feels Louis’ lithe fingers dancing over his stomach, pushing at his pants until they slip into his underwear. The boy gasps, his breath caught in his throat.

“Lou, please,” he cries.

“Shh,” he says, his fingers delicately brushing over the head, still teasing. He leans into kiss him once more, effectively shushing Harry’s whine. Then his hand starts to move up and down skillfully, and Harry struggles to control his entire well being.

It’s quick, and messy, and he comes embarrassingly fast with a loud moan that seems to bounce off the pond water and into the forest around them.

He lies back, dazed and flushed.

Somewhere distant, he hears Louis moan and then he, too, is lying on his back, gazing at the sky above. They lie like that for a long time, just the humming of crickets and birds filling the empty air.

Harry turns to face Louis, his hair wild and cheeks bright red. He trails his eyes over his body, stopping at the wet spot on the front of his pants. Harry smiles lazily. He did that to him. He was the cause for his cheeks. For his hair. For his pants.

Louis turns to face him then, a similar smile spreading on his face. They don’t say anything. They just smile idiotically. Because apparently, both of them are idiots and seemingly at a loss as to what to say.

Then, Louis breaks the silence with giggles.

“What?” Harry asks, his voice gravelly. He giggles along with Louis even though he doesn’t understand. “What’s so funny?”

Louis shakes his head, giggling cutely into the grass, effectively hiding his face. And how is this possible? He was just hot and sexy a second ago. Now he’s cute and silly. That shouldn’t be allowed.

Harry scoots closer to him, nestling his head in the crook of Louis’ chest and arm. He can feel the vibrations of Louis’ laughter.

“We just got off in front of your fucking horses, Harry.”

Harry looks at him then back at the horses where they're staring straight back at him. A startled laugh escapes his throat.

“Randy is definitely gonna throw me off his back now,” he adds. “He’s gonna want revenge after taking away his owner’s innocence.”

Harry laughs, pressing his face against his chest to hide his wide, though embarrassed, smile. He inhales Louis’ scent deeply, bathing in it. It’s quiet again. And then Harry remembers something so embarrassing that he kind of just wants to bury himself alive at this point.

“How the fuck am I supposed to act natural when I come back here with my mom on Sunday?” he blurts out.


	6. Epilogue

“Harry, will you please marry me?”

The boy gasps, bringing his hands up to his mouth, trying and failing to contain his laughter. He nods his head, sharing a wide smile. “Oh, Lou,” he answers, feeling giddy and light. “Of course.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Niall groans from the other side of the room. “You do this shit every fucking time we play this game. It’s not funny anymore.”

“It was never funny,” Zayn mutters, to which Liam giggles shamelessly into his chest where they’re cuddled up on the futon.

“Well excuse me, Zayn,” Louis says appalled, looking up from where he added a little, blue man to his green car. “I happen to take The Game of Life very seriously, okay?”

“Is that why you keep stealing money from the bank when Liam’s not looking?”

Louis gapes at him, bringing his hand up to his chest. “Me? I would never.”

Harry giggles beside him, shaking his head fondly at the two. “I can’t marry a liar, Lou,” he says, taking half of the money from Louis’ hands and returning it to the bank. Louis pouts at him and Harry only laughs in return. “Oh, you know I still love you,” he says, pressing a quick kiss to his lips, only to have Louis deepen it.

“Boo!” Niall drawls out, throwing a chip at them. “Get a room.”

Louis pulls back, raising his eyebrows expectantly. “Shall we?” he asks, standing up and holding out his hand for Harry. Harry smiles, his stomach twirling around in happy flips.

“We shall,” he says, grabbing his hand and leading him out the door.

“Wait, are you guys really leaving to go bang right now?” Niall asks.

“Why, care to join, Nialler?” Louis teases.

Niall shrugs his shoulders, leaning back against the futon and stretching out his legs. “Just want to know if I should go put my earplugs in or not.”

“Don’t bother,” Louis chuckles, pulling Harry closer to him and nudging him. “This one here is loud enough that the earplugs won’t work anyway.”

“Louis!” Harry cries, embarrassed. He hides his face against his neck, feeling all of his skin warm up significantly.

“Don’t worry, babe. I never said I didn’t like it.”

“Boo,” Niall repeats, throwing another chip at them. “Leave already. I’m turning the TV up really loud so I don’t hear anything.”

“Don’t say a word,” Harry hisses, before tugging on his boyfriend’s arm to find a place for themselves.

“Bet you $10 that we can be louder than the TV!” Louis throws over his shoulder on his way out the door.

“Deal!” Niall answers, already turning up the volume.

Harry pulls him into his room, quickly locking the door behind them. “You’re a menace.”

“You love it,” Louis smirks.

“I know,” Harry answers, smiling. They stand there in Harry’s room, just quietly smiling at each other. It’s quite peaceful, Harry thinks. That is until--

“Okay, enough of these cute dimpled smiles you’ve got going on here, Curly. It’s time to get loud. I’m not losing 10 bucks.”

///

As it turns out, Niall lost. He gave each of them $10 the next morning.

In addition, Niall also avoided making eye contact with either of them for the next three days.

But it’s fine, Harry thinks. He would definitely do it again.

**Author's Note:**

> And that's a wrap! I hope you guys enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Let me know what you thought! Kudos and comments are the best thing in the world :)
> 
> Come and talk to me on [tumblr!](http://larryficsandrec.tumblr.com/)  
> I love making new friends :)  
> Here's the [fic post](http://larryficsandrec.tumblr.com/post/168763077258/to-hold-you-close-chapter-one-ao3-after)  
> if you're feeling generous and want to reblog it :)


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